That Threaten and Adore
by sassanachs
Summary: Tris and her family arrive in Paris looking for work at the Opera House, but everything is shattered when Andrew is taken hostage when he accidentally trespasses into the infamous Phantom of the Opera's underground domain. To save him, Tris boldly enters the forbidden catacombs, willing to offer her life and freedom for her father's. A POTO/BATB crossover
1. ACT I, Prologue

**Hello! Eris shipper and trash reporting for duty! I have decided that after a long hiatus from writing, I'm going to attempt to write a Phantom of the Opera Eris story. Personall** **y I want to write this because the Phantom of the Opera has been one of my favorite stories ever since I read the book at age thirteen and saw the musical at sixteen.** **It's not much atm and I'm not sure if I'll continue it, but** **I think it's pretty good so far and if you guys like it, I might continue. I know that for my other readers who are looking at this, I should be working on my other stories. I am though, but I just wanted to get this brain baby out. Enjoy!**

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 **ACT I**

 _"If I am the phantom, it is because man's hatred has made me so. If I am to be saved it is because your love redeems me."_  
 _― Gaston Leroux_

He could see through one good eye and his slightly swollen bruised one that the twilight is setting in swiftly, and the earth seems to be falling into a sleep deep enough to qualm the demons that have plagued him nightly since the day he was born. He presses himself further into the corner of the cage, the metal bars pushing against his bruised back. Bringing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them, he tried to ignore the sounds that the crowd was making, encouraged by his caretaker and jailer who was enticing more people to enter the tent.

"Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls! Step right up- yes right this way to see the Devil's Child!" His voice booms around the tent over the crowd "The most hideous, horrible and terrifying child ever born and the only place you can see him is right here at this camp. Come closer and see why only the Devil himself could have sired such a child."

Spying a slightly older boy dressed in grey holding the hand of a young girl walking past the tent he called out to them, "You there! Would care to enter, I can guarantee that you will have nightmares for weeks to come if you have just one glance at the Devil's Child! Dare you come in?"

The boy in grey's eyes widen with a smile and he turned to whisper to the little blonde haired girl if she wanted to go inside. The thrill of seeing the Devil's Child was too hard to resist, even with the promise of nightmares. She appeared unsure, whispered something back and tried tugging on his sleeve to lead him into another direction; however, the smiling grey boy held onto the girl's hand tightly before following the owner into the Devil's Child's tent, dropping coins into his hand as they crossed the threshold of the tent.

The boy's owner enters the cage and pulls the door shut with a loud clang that made the crowd jump.

"Don't want him escaping, do we?" he whispered to the little girl standing behind the older boy that the devil child deciphers must be her brother. Hesitant, the girl steps away from the man. Before she and her brother could go further, however, an older man that resembled the older child strode in with an angry expression written across his face.

"Caleb! How many times do your mother and I have to tell you that you and your sister are not allow to come in here!"

"But father, this is the last time that they'll be here before they leave in the morning- can we just-"

Sensing a loss of profit, the fair owner tried to intervene. "Dear sir, can you blame the young lad's interest? Surely there's no harm for them to be here? Perhaps you would like to see the spawn of Satan himself-"

"No thank you!" The father snapped. "You should be ashamed of yourself for exploiting a child for such means of a living and profit! Come along, children. Your mother's concert is almost over-"

The father dragged his children away from the tent, though the imprisoned child watched as he caught the fleeting glance of the girl looking across her shoulder at him with concern and confusion before she disappeared. Huffing in annoyance, the fair owner turned to his audience with a leering grin and booming voice."

"Welcome! Let me start by assuring everyone that you are in no physical danger from the Devil's Child. He will remain under my complete control," the owner announced, flicking his rope in the direction of the Devil's Child, "At all times. Your minds however, I cannot guarantee. You may be plagued by nightmares for months to come, suffer horrifying visions at any time. Therefore, may I suggest that anyone who has a more delicate disposition, leave the tent before I proceed." He glanced around the tent. "No takers I see. Then let us begin."

He paced the length of the cage twice, stumbling slightly only once, before turning to face the audience again. Speaking in a low voice so the crowd had to move closer to the cage to hear him he began, "He was abandoned just hours after his birth, for what mother could bare to nurse such a child. The Devil has outdone himself in creating such a monster, a hideous creature that would kill you without a second thought. A beast that can never be trusted." He suddenly raised his voice so it boomed throughout the tent. "The Devil's Child!"

Striding over to the corner he grabbed the boy by the arm and flung him into the centre of the cage. The child remained curled in a ball, his face looking down to the ground.

"Get up!" The man roared with a kick to the boy's exposed shins. The child gave a small whimper but it couldn't be heard over the noise that the already excited crowd was making. The jailer gave another kick and the crowd started to jeer when the child didn't respond. Fury rising fast he pulled out his rope, and brandishing it like a whip, struck the boy across the back.

"Now!" he screamed, continuing to alternatively kick and whip the small body in front of him while the crowd laughed. Slowly, against the continuing assault of his jailer, the child brought himself to his hands and knees. Realizing that this was the moment, the owner discarded the rope and grabbed the sack that was covering the boy's head. With one swift movement he pulled him into a sitting position and removed the sack, exposing the child's head for the crowd to see.

The tent went quiet for a moment whilst everyone took in what they were seeing before seeming chaos erupted. The jeering and heckling of moments ago seemed to increase tenfold as the crowd took in the view. They jostled to get a closer look, scarcely believing that what they were seeing could be real. A rough looking teenage boy, wanting to appear braver than his friends, reached into to his pocket to withdraw some long forgotten food and promptly threw it into the cage. The owner gave a wicked grin to the crowd, this was exactly how he wanted things to proceed.

"Who else wants a go?" The crowd started scrambling for things to throw into the cage, anything they could get their hands on. Half eaten food, the small stones and pebbles that littered the uncovered floor of the tent and coins from the wealthier members of the group were all thrown at the child.

The jailer retrieved his rope and continued to whip the boy from a distance, hoping to provoke an explosion of temper to truly frighten the crowd, but the child didn't react, only moving involuntarily when struck. Pushed onto his side and momentarily dazed when he was hit on the back of his head with a larger stone and kicked across the face. The crowd was slowly starting to dissipate, having run out of items to throw and losing interest in simply staring at the Devil's Child. With one last kick to ensure the boy stayed down, his jailer started to gather the coins scattered throughout the cage.

The child gingerly stretched, testing his body after the abuse that had been inflicted on it. He reached for his sack and pulled it over back his head before crawling his back into the shadows. Sweeping his eyes across the cage to ensure that he hadn't missed any coins, the owner glanced down at the child still huddled on the floor amongst the food and stones in the shadow side of the cage.

"Pathetic little bastard. At least you're good for something," he said, shaking his bag of coins. Exiting the cage, once again ensuring the gate was firmly closed behind him, he sat up against moving the flap and exiting the tent with tonight's earnings, a bottle of drink at his side. As he sat there listening for any moment or sound for his abuser to come back, the pain from the boy's injuries slowly started to ease, only to be replaced by a boiling rage that needed an outlet. He started to recall the taunts and yelling of the crowd and looked around at the objects that had been tossed into the cage, at him. Oblivious to the remaining pain, he quietly got to his feet, grabbed the nearest object and threw them against the cage with a roar. He continued taking food and trash either kicking it or throwing it against his prison, acting like a wild animal. He fell to his knees when his legs could no longer support and began breathing in and out heavily through his mouth and nose.

As he closed his eyes he heard a small gasp. He whipped his gaze out into the open just long enough for him to notice the two small brown eyes staring at him through the bars of the cage he's lived in for two, three, maybe four years when he realizes that they belong to the little girl who was dragged away along with her brother by her father. It's seemed like an eternity. But they're there- those eyes, and at the moment time seems to move a little quicker- just fast enough for his heart to begin beating again and for him to ponder over why had she returned.

He shifts uneasily, sliding back farther into the shadow of his cage for fear of startling the girl. She's likely never seen a face like his- deformed, mutated, destroyed- all adjectives that haunt him constantly and follow him around as a permanent description. He's a monster, a freak... though definitely not by choice.

She shifts also in response, stepping forward and pressing her face into the frozen metal bars of his cage to try and see him better. She takes something out of her pocket that appears to be a piece of sweet meat or bread, sticking it out to him through the cage. Famished and hunger consuming him, the boy moves to grab the piece of food swiftly and frantically going back to his shaded place. He lifts the bag slightly above his face to eat, not wanting to frighten the girl as he devoured the bread. He watches the girl cock her head to the side, watching him with a naïve childlike curiosity in her eyes. He's unsure- it's not often that anyone dares to come close enough to the cage to be at arm's reach- most who do are violent, crazy, or leering like his owner and the crowd who come to the see the Devil's Child. Yet, in her eyes, he see's nothing of the sort; only sadness, curiosity, kindness, and warmth. He doesn't dare let himself hope though, not even for a second, that what he sees is honestly what she is- that her eyes will not soon fill with terror and disgust.

It's then that someone steps up beside her, taking one tiny mitted hand away from the bars and into her very large one. If the boy could guess the woman's age he'd say at most she could be thirty five- though in her eyes he sees wisdom far beyond that number.

"Beatrice, darling, what're you doing here? We're getting ready to leave," The woman says.

 _Bringer of joy!_

He finds happiness and pride of himself in knowing the translation of her name. His mind is clever, and he's extremely intelligent- even only having read a few books in his lifetime that he could find while travelling through the fair, he knows much more than anyone else his age would. He often thinks of this fact with great bitterness; if it were not for his face, perhaps he could be most dearly loved. But no, by some great twist of awful fate, he was made as a bug to be trampled on, and murdered much later.

"I... there's a boy... I wanted to see him," Her voice chimes like the sweetest of bells, even at her young age. Her voice is soft, though, and much in need of training.

"Mama... Daddy didn't tell us, but why would they have a boy locked up this way?"

Her eyes look up to her mother with great sadness, and with that expression on her face the boy cannot fathom how her mother says what she does. He expects something to qualm her worry; to make the world seem less terrible than it is. But this is not the case.

"They think he's a monster. A freak of nature..."

Her face becomes even more downcast at this- her eyebrows furrowing together tightly. At six years old, she's not yet wise enough to know the awful way the world works- that most decisions are based on frivolities and shallowness. At twelve himself, and very much old enough to have experienced many of these things, he doesn't have the fortune enough to be unwise.

"...but he's just a boy, and that thinking isn't right, Tris."

She nods, and then without a word steps up to the bars, removing her mittens and lying them right inside the cage, so that he'll definitely be able to take them. Her mother doesn't protest- only takes her hands in hers and kisses them to keep them warm. The girl called Beatrice smiles at this, but then remembers what she just did and frowns.

"I don't think you're a monster." She murmurs softly. "So don't think for a second that everyone's the same, okay?"

The crowd's jeering and screaming was still a fresh imprint on his brain. The boy turns over the words in his mind for a moment, watching her bright smile.

He decides to test what she's just said.

He takes off the sack over his head, and crawls back into the light hesitantly, eyes filled with fear and loneliness. His body is emaciated and ruined with old and fresh cuts, bruises, and scars- and his face, oh, how horrid a face he has. The entire right side of it is deformed beyond measure- his lip is drawn up much too far in a permanent feral snarl, his cheek doesn't form around the bone naturally, and his eye is partially blind; discolored against his left, but no less filled with light and emotion.

She gasps and draws back for a moment, but upon greater scrutiny decides that even with his face so greatly wrong, he still appears young and afraid. In his eyes she's sees all the sadness of the world, and she realized he's just another child like herself. Smiling again, she steps back to the bars, holding out her hand for him to take.

"You have beautiful eyes." Is all she says. Her mother behind her smiles faintly at her courage and kindness, and she feels pride beyond measure. The boy just suddenly feels very, very warm. Reaching out his hand to touch hers, they fail to make contact for even a moment before the fair owner (having just arrived and seeing what was about to occur) pulls her roughly away from the bars, at least a few steps back. Her mother immediately retaliates, ripping the man's hand from her daughter's arm. The boy only shrinks back in his cage for fear that he's soon to receive yet another beating.

"How dare you?! How dare you touch my child?! Get your hands off of her!" She screams.

"But Mam, that boy is dangerous! He's a demon from hell!"

"He's just a boy! I ought to report you for the way he looks- he's hungry and sick- can't you see?"

Tris, at all the fighting, begins to grow afraid and sniffles, and the boy notices, the sound tearing him away from his fear of the fair owner and tormentor. He crawls back up to the front of the cage and motions to get her to come closer. Seeing this, she quietly steps away from the scene, back close to the bars. He smiles faintly at her, gently reaching his hand out and wiping a lone tear from her cheek, shaking his head as if to tell her not to cry.

"Shh..." His voice rasps. "Don't... cry..."

After years of not speaking, he finds it difficult to- but her nodding encourages him.

"What's... your name?" He asks, though he already knows. "Mine is... Eric."

"E-eric?"

He nods, grinning again, and she smiles back at him, brighter than ever before. She opens her mouth to say something in response, but before she can her mother grabs her hand, leading her away from the cage gently, though quickly.

"Come on Tris. We're going to the police. Don't you worry, we'll get him out of there."

Fighting against her hold just a little, Tris turns back to Eric, meeting eyes with him before the fair owner blocks her sight and slaps the boy with full force. Tears flood her redden cheeks as she continues to hear the sharp slapping beatings of hands and a whip. She could hear the grunts and shouts of pain.

Suddenly, as if some unknown force had taken possession of her body, Tris released the hold of her mother's grip, sprinting through the crowded fairground and back into the boy's tent to see the owner putting down the whip and reaching for a club to give the striking blow. Horrified, she ran as fast as her tiny legs would take her into the cage to stop the horrid man, only to be the one to take the blow as she stood in front of the boy called Eric.

It happens all too fast and yet all too slow simultaneously. Tris could hear her mother scream as her small frame and head hits the cold ground hard, her eyes meeting Eric's shocked and frantic grey eyes before her world turns dark. Eric watches the girl for one last time before her hysterical mother gathers her child in her arms and exits the tent in a frenzy.

And that evening, when the famous Prima Donna Natalie Prior and her manager and husband Andrew Prior returns with the police, they find the fair owner dead and that the boy has escaped. The next morning at the hospital when their daughter comes to and they tells her the news, Tris is confused as to why her parents would tell her about the disappearance of a boy whom she had never once seen nor met.


	2. I: Arrival

" _Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was as golden as the sun's rays, and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes. She wheedled her mother, was kind to her doll, took great care of her frock and her red shoes and her fiddle, but loved most of all, when she went to sleep, to hear the Angel of Music."  
― __Gaston Leroux_

Outskirts of Chicago, 1870

 _ **The candles that surrounded the great cavern were all lit, giving the place an eerie glow. Tris walked around the cavern listlessly, struggling to see in the half dark-half light place. Then, from the corner of her eye, she saw a swish of a black cloak. She chased after it. Further and further, Tris came into the darkness, struggling to see who was also there with her. There was little light to guide her now. Just when she was out of breath and about to give up, a face suddenly came into the bare light. A handsome face that was all nearly hidden. The man smiled, showing a row of many white teeth that looked like a wild panther's.**_

 _ **"Come to me," He said in deep, rugged voice. It made Tris shiver as it seemed to roll up and down her spine as if it were velvet.**_

 _ **A black leathered glove hand was extended out to her. Tris found herself slowly walking toward the hand, reaching out her own to take the man's hand...**_

"TRIS! WAKE UP!"

Beatrice Prior's eyes flew open, realizing that her brother Caleb was shaking her and calling out her name. When Tobias saw Tris open her eyes, he stopped his ministrations. He sighed and had a look of such relief upon his face.

"Finally!" He sighed. "You were really into this nightmare. I actually thought that you were going to die this time."

"A nightmare?" Tris asked, her voice not sounding her own. The dream had been anything but a nightmare.

"Yeah," Caleb nodded his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "You were thrashing and twisting around in bed, and you were covered in sweat. I couldn't get you to wake up for the longest time."

"I'm sorry for worrying you," Tris said, looking away from her friend and running a hand through her messy hair.

"It's alright," Caleb said shaking his head. Unfolding his arms, he took a seat upon the bed with a look of worry. Tris would look directly in his eyes, something she always did when she wanted an issue to be over and done with. "Was it the same dream again?"

Tris silently nodded her head and sighed through her nose. The dream wasn't anything new to her. It had been her constant companion for the past five years since her mother's death. "It's always the same. It's been that way for as long as I could remember... do you think that's normal? Don't most people have different dreams?"

Calen didn't know what to tell her. He wished that there was a logical explanation to explain such a thing, but to him there wasn't. And so instead, he merely shook his head and smiled sadly. "I don't know."

"You should start getting ready," He said, trying to ease her mind away from the thought. "Father is already back and says we're leaving in the next hour. I brought up something for you to wear so you could get changed. We'll wait downstairs for you."

With that, he got up and bounded out of the room closing the door behind him. Alone, Tris remained sitting on her bed, thinking of her mother singing her to sleep. She always used to, until her voice faded to a raspy croak and it hurt her to speak. In her prime, Natalie Prior was regarded one of the most highly regarded and highly demanded sopranos in the United States. She made her fame as a young singer from Milwaukee singing in New York where she fell madly in love with a young man.

Andrew Prior was the son of a wealthy businessman and merchant and Natalie had little money, barely enough to please Andrew's snobbish parents, who naturally refused the union. The two ran away to the country and later to Chicago, where they were married by a priest. They Chicago their kept themselves hidden, praying that the Prior family would not discover them and force them apart. It would seem however, that instead, the girl's parents cut her off from the family completely, never once attempting to correspond with her.

But despite this sadness, both of Tris and Caleb's parents made their lives and home a happy one. Tris did not know a day when she weren't loved. And while some would examine Tris' childhood and upbringing in the spotlight with envy and disdain, Christine wouldn't have had it any other way. She regretted nothing about her family or childhood; she was a Prior, music had been with her all her life and that alone made her heart smile.

With the help of her husband, The Nightingale of the Midwest was always wanted in the many different infamous opera houses of Europe and performing largescale concerts and operas home and abroad. Natalie had been known for her charity works throughout the nation and giving charity concerts for Union soldiers during the American Civil War and for the late President Abraham Lincoln. To many, Natalie Prior had been one of God's angels sent from heaven to give the world her song only to be taken away too early at the age of forty five.

Tris remembered that day all too clearly. Her mother lying in bed, pale as the white sheets beneath her. Her once dark hair sweaty and plastered to her sweat glistening skin, a bloody handkerchief in her palm that she would use cover her violent coughs. Tris remembered how she and her brother, both enthralled by the music in her life, promised she would become a singer like her in her memory. Andrew never truly got over his wife's death. He moved his family away from Chicago and there were times when he didn't want music in the house for it being a painful reminder of her.

But today was different. In nearly perhaps ten years they were returning to Paris and going back to perhaps one of the most glorious and infamous the Palais Garnier Opera House to achieve a musical dream- but it wasn't for Tris. They had received a letter from the ballet mistress and an old friend of Natalie's, Tori Wu, which they were in need of a new pianist for the orchestra. Though Tris knew little piano, it was Caleb who was truly given the gift to play. And so, Andrew had to put his reluctance and grief aside for the family to survive. Tris had to put her musical dreams of becoming a singer like her mother aside and be supportive that it was her brother who be their mother's legacy and become the breadwinner of the family.

The three figures dressed in simple clothing gazed up at the massive cathedral, Notre Dame. Tris stared at the rose window in fascination, watching the sun hit the glass, causing a rainbow of colors to illumine the pavement below. The other figure, a man who was entering the winter of his life, smiled at the girl next to him. "Paris, Beatrice. We're in Paris."

"Paris…" the girl whispered, her eyes still focused on the beauty and majesty before her. They were actually there, in Paris, the place that had been her mother's favorite playground in the world.

Andrew sighed and put his arm around the girl's shoulders, gently guiding her away from the majestic cathedral. "Come," he said. "We must get to the Opera House, for that is a treasure in its own right as well."

Tris nodded her head, although she did not look away from the cathedral till they turned a corner. She was very young the last time she was in Paris with her family during mother's tenure at the Paris Opera House, so her memory was slightly vague. In all honesty, she doesn't remember much of her time in Paris. Caleb has told her once that it was because she had gotten a head injury due to accident, and she had gotten a slight case of amnesia from the incident.

The family walked quickly amongst the busy Parisians of all social classes. From the wealthy who rode in carriages and wore furs and silks, to the beggars who were hobbling on wooden crutches. There was beauty and poverty everywhere, yet none of it tarnished the wonder that Tris saw in the city.

Finally, after a great deal of walking, the four reached the reason they had come to Paris in the first place. There it stood, the beautiful and majestic Opera House, a treasure in its own right, just as Andrew had said. They gazed up at the architectural masterpiece, their breath escaping their throats as stone gargoyles stared back at them. Tris was lost in its wonder, but also felt a strange shiver run down her spine. Was it possible for buildings to have eyes? She knew it was a foolish notion, but still…it seemed almost as if it were staring back at her, searching her very soul.

"Beatrice?"

The girl woke from her trance with a slight jump. "Yes Father?"

He gestured for her to follow him and Caleb, as they were already several feet ahead of her. Tris blushed and quickly followed, stepping towards the front entrance. They had come to Paris with hopes to start a new life. As both she and her family passed through the grand doors of the Opera House, for the first time Tris began to feel somewhat embarrassed about who she was and where she came from. There were only a few people in the grand hall, but the ones who were there were elegantly dressed in suits and dresses of fine linen, silk, and lace. The ladies wore hats with tall plush feathers, and the gentlemen carried gloves and silver tipped walking sticks. It was the looks that both Tris and her family received that caused her skin to burn red; the looks of a person who was thinking, _you don't belong here_. Had they who they were, they would've been astounded by the sight and exclaim: _Impossible! This cannot be Madame Le rossignol's husband and children!_

"Father…" Tris could hear Caleb whispered rather timidly. "Perhaps this isn't a good idea…"

Her father, who was lost in the awe of the room and unaware of any hostile looks, turned his dark head swiftly, looking at his son in astonishment. "

"What are you saying?" he hissed softly. "You thought coming to Paris was a wonderful idea, why are you so against the thought now?"

Tris bit her lip and looked around, trying to ignore the elegant men and women who regarded the two of them with disgust.

"Father it's just…I don't know if we can fit in here," she whispered trying to defend her brother, feeling her cheeks burn brightly, especially at the look her father gave her after she uttered the words.

Caleb stood tall by her side and gave her a small reassuring smile. "It's okay," He whispered

Yet before Andrew had the opportunity to say anything, a man in a maroon uniform and a bushy black beard appeared before the four of them.

"May I help you?" the man asked, although anyone could tell by the tone in his voice that helping a person was the last thing he wanted to do.

Andrew smiled and gave a short bow. "Monsieur, I received word that there is an opening in your company's orchestra. My son is a pianist, and while I do not like to boast, I have been told by many, including nobility here and tycoons in the west, that he plays exceptionally. In fact, he's studied music in America-"

"Yes, yes, yes, that is all very well," the uniformed man muttered, waving his hand to stop Andrew from babbling. "And who is this?" the man asked, pointing a figure at Tris who timidly hid behind Caleb.

"Oh, my daughter, a fine singer if I may add. She-"

"We don't need singers," the man grumbled. "We have too many singers as it is, if you ask me. But…there may be a place for your son monsieur," the man then motioned behind him to a door that led off down a dark corridor. "The managers are watching a rehearsal for next week's opera. They would be the ones you would truly wish to speak to. I do not know if they will hire you, the season has already been planned, but…one of our pianists has…gone missing..."

Tri's brow furrowed at this news. Tris and Caleb looked at one another in confusion. Missing? What did that mean?

"I would not wish to take another man's place-" Caleb began, but the man in the maroon uniform quickly cut him off.

"Just go through that door, but be very quiet, Jeanine Matthews is rehearsing. "Both Tris and the two men exchanged looks at the name, and then bowed their heads to the uniformed man.

"Is Ms. Matthews a great singer?" Tris quickly asked before the man turned away from them.

The man grimaced. "Some…would think so…"

Caleb quickly took Tris' hand and hurried through the door the man had indicated. It was a long dark corridor and the further they went, the louder the singing became. Tris felt velvet rub against her arms. She realized that she was surrounded by black curtains, and up ahead she could see bright lights, indicating the stage. The singing grew louder and louder still, reminding Tris of a time her parents had taken her and Caleb to the seashore and there were seagulls squawking on the cliffs above. Caleb topped, and the three gazed through a sliver in the curtains at the beautifully illuminated stage.

She was encased in a world of black velvet, the smell of cigarettes filling the air as stage hands quickly lowered and lifted elaborate scenes by thick ropes and heavy sandbags. And a few feet in front of her, the stage, bathed in golden light, where dancers twirled and singers lifted their voices to the heavens; it was a dazzling picture of rhythmic chaos.

"Those must be the managers," her father whispered, pointing to two men who were dressed in fine suits and exchanging notes with one another while examining the stage.

"Wait here," he said, before quickly moving off to the side in hopes to have an audience with the gentlemen.

Tris barely heard a word and began moving away from her brother; she was lost in the spectacle before her. While gazing out through the curtains was nothing compared to sitting in a box, or so she assumed as she had never been in one, it was as if she were gazing at a piece of the world that only God could see. Indeed, this view of the stage felt very sacred.

"Hey!" she jumped at the sound of a gruff voice. A stage hand grabbed her by her shoulders and whirled her around to face him. "What are you doing back here! No one is allowed back here!"

Tris was terrified, especially when she smelled the alcohol on the man's breath. His hands were large and dirty and the way he squeezed her shoulders hurt. He then seemed to look at her differently, and a toothy grin spread across his face. "You best come with me …" he slurred.

"N-n-no thank you…" Tris whimpered, wriggling her shoulders out of his grip.

"Come on, Edgar won't hurt you luv…" he reached for her again, but Tris quickly moved out of the way, causing the stage hand to run into a prop, which made him lose his balance, and before he fell completely, he grabbed hold of a piece of scenery and the whole thing came crashing down.

There were several screams by ballet dancers, but none compared to the cry by the prima donna who was nearly knocked over by the crashing piece of scenery. "Jeanine! Jeanine my darling!" a man reached for the shaken singer who was fanning herself as if to keep from fainting. However, the second the stout little man reached her side, she pushed him away and seemed perfectly fine.

"WHAT IN GOD'S NAME IS THIS!" the woman screamed, pointing at the crushed scenery. Everyone else was at a loss for words, including the two managers who were simply staring in horror at the stage. Tris turned a deep shade of red, knowing she was in full view for everyone to see. Her father and brother shared the same expression of horror as they locked eyes with hers.

"YOU!" Tris jumped as she realized the grand woman was addressing her. "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING!"

Tris was scared speechless. What could she say? A simple sorry wouldn't necessarily do much good at this point.

"WHO ARE YOU!" the woman demanded.

Everyone was surprised, including Tris, when the voice that spoke came from Andrew standing next to the managers. "A thousand apologies madam, it was an accident, my daughter didn't mean-"

"YOUR DAUGHTER?" Both Tris and her father regretted the words the second they left his lips. "AND WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!" she demanded.

"Madame, please, do not stress your lovely voice-"

"SHUT UP!" Carlotta barked at the manager who attempted to ease her.

"Monsieur Prior," he gave a deep bow. "My wife was the former prima donna at this prestige opera house. And this is my daughter Beatrice, we have come with hopes that my son and her brother Caleb may find a place in your orchestra, as I was just discussing with these gentlemen. My daughter has a passion for singing and we were hoping that she may also find work in the chorus."

It amazed Tris with how calm her father spoke, despite this woman who looked ready to rip one's throat out. Then, excitement bubbled within her chest at the thought she may finally have the chance to obtain her chance to sing at the Opera House.

"Is that so?" Jeanine growled, her voice not as loud, yet even more menacing. "This little brat is _the_ Natalie Prior's daughter?"

"Indeed!" cried one of the managers, quickly stepping in. He was a tall man, middle aged, dark skinned. "And her son may help us as Monsieur Robert has been missing for quite some time. We are in need of a pianist to fill the man's place."

"Yes, quite so!" remarked the other manager, a slightly older gentleman with graying sandy hair. "After all, was it not you who mentioned yesterday that it was impossible for you to find your notes due to the missing piano?"

Jeanine's eyes turned into slits as she gazed upon the managers.

"I do not need musical help of any sort, my talents are gifts from God!" she spat. "And as for that man and this…this…little… American!" she retorted, looking upon Tris with fury, "I will not perform on this stage knowing that a little stupid clumsy-"

There was a loud groan and suddenly a figure rose from a heap of black curtains, belching as he came to his feet. "Edgar!" the mangers said at once.

The stage hand turned to look at the people on the stage, all of whom were staring at him with surprise. "W-w-what?" he hiccupped.

"The man is drunk!" one of the mangers cried.

"And it was he who caused the accident!" the other shouted.

"Shame on you!" they both yelled.

Edgar simply looked confused.

The managers looked at the man in disgust. "You're fired!"

Edgar only response was another disgusting belch.

"So you see madam?" Caleb quickly intervened. "It was all a mistake; my sister had nothing to do with this accident."

Jeanine hated to be proven wrong, and she hated it even more when she couldn't have her way. "If we must have a new pianist, then so be it, but I will NOT have that girl share the same stage as me!"

"Of course not!" both managers quickly appeased. Jeanine gave one final glare to the petrified girl, then turned on her heel and exited the stage. Everyone let out a long weary sigh of relief.

"Caleb Prior?" addressed one of the managers named Max. "Just because your mother was a well renowned star doesn't mean anything. You must understand this is a trial period. We don't normally hire men right off the street, there are plenty of people out there who can play a violin for a few coins. But we are desperate right now for someone to fill Monsieur Robert's place."

"I understand," Caleb whispered.

"If Monsieur Robert does not return, and if you do as well as is expected, you may stay and take his place in the orchestra," David, the taller of the two managers, added.

Andrew gave another low bow. "Thank you monsieurs. And…my daughter?"

"Yes, your daughter," both managers grumbled, looking at Tris who was desperately trying to help some of the stage hands and dancers with fixing the fallen set.

"We are in no need of singers, our chorus is quite full and the season is already scheduled. But…" Max glanced at the girl. "We may find some place for her in the costume department or something like that."

"Oh! Thank you monsieurs! Thank you so-"

"Yes, yes," Max muttered with a wave of his hand. "Seek Madame Tori, the ballet mistress, since she is the reason you're here; she will help get the two of you settled. Come David, we must talk, I'm afraid there's been another note…"

David rolled his eyes to heaven. "Not another one! What are his demands this time?"

"The usual," Max muttered, "and then of course, some others as well."

The two managers stalked off, grumbling and complaining all the way. Tris then came to her father and brother's side, looking hopeful for them. "So? Will they let you play?"

Caleb smiled at her and nodded his head, although his smile quickly changed. "I'm afraid we couldn't get you a place in the chorus, I'm so sorry-"

Tris offered a kind smile, trying to not show that she was disappointed and hurt. "Don't apologize, I do not need to be in the chorus, it matters more that you can play as you've always dreamed."

"But Tris, you have dreamed of singing on the stage, have you not?" Andrew exclaimed.

Tris shook her head, although it was flat faced lie and her father and brother knew it. Music was her passion and everything to her. She did have dreams of singing on the stage, but there were more important things, such as getting food on the table. And right now, there best chances were for Caleb to play in the orchestra. Andrew smiled sadly at his daughter. He sighed and put his arm around his her shoulders.

"Come, we must find Tori, she is to help us find lodging." Tris nodded and followed her father and brothers, although before she did, she felt an odd eerie feeling…as if she were being watched again. She looked up to the boxes but saw nothing. Her imagination running wild again, she mused. Yet she couldn't help but wonder if such a place, as old and majestic as this, could be haunted? Her mother read gothic romances and mystery tales to her and Caleb as children, causing Tris to stay awake at night afraid of what the darkness would bring, but also filling her with excitement at the turn of every page. It was foolish, she knew, but this place seemed to resemble so many of those tales. The thought of ghosts was rather exciting, and perhaps even a little romantic

Her father called her name, and she quickly turned and hurried after them, yet gazing one last time at the auditorium. Paris…they were truly here! And they were in the Paris Opera House, and she was standing on the stage her mother once sang upon to an audience of thousands! She sighed dreamily, imagining what it would be like to perform. But her sigh turned to one of sadness. That was all it could be…a dream.


	3. II: Intrigue

**Hi again! So I've considered it and I will continue writing this story! I intend to update every Sunday, and thank you again for feedback!**

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 _"Who is the face in the shadows? Who is that face in the mask?"― The Phantom of the Opera_

A pleasured sigh escaped his lips. He sucked in a deep breath and groaned as he felt his body release the rigid tension that had him at bay, finally giving way to the brief sensation of pleasure.

"Did I please you monsieur?"

He groaned, awoken from his trance by the woman's voice. Yes, the pleasure was pleasing, but always brief.

"You pleased me very much," he grunted, pulling his newly spent manhood back inside his trousers. The woman seemed to pout a bit, but only momentarily, and quickly rose from her knees to her feet.

"Is there anything else I can do for you, monsieur?"

He didn't want to look at her. This was the part he always hated. He was a man with needs like any other, and when he needed release from the cravings of the flesh, he knew exactly where to find them. The city was littered with prostitutes who were willing to do far more than he had asked of this woman. However, he wanted to keep the encounters as brief as possible. After he received what he wanted, he would give the women what they wanted.

"Here," he muttered, tossing the woman several gold coins.

The woman's eyes widened in amazement. "But monsieur, this is too much for a mere-"

"Do you want me to take it back and leave with nothing?" he hissed, his patience already thinning.

The woman said nothing, she wasn't about to argue over money. She quickly tucked the coins into her bodice, yet attempted to peer past the shadows that covered her customer's face. She had seen him before; this wasn't the first encounter the two of them had shared. He was a mysterious man; only seeking out "company" long after dark, and always refusing to go indoors. He preferred dark lonely alleys and hard stone walls to soft feather beds. She had seen him here with other girls as well, sometimes seeking the pleasure she had provided for him, sometimes seeking more. But he himself never changed, always sticking close to the shadows and keeping his face covered with the collar of his cape. She shrugged her shoulders, thinking it didn't really matter what he wore or how he behaved, so long as she got paid.

"Shall I be seeing you again soon monsieur? Are you sure there isn't anything I can-"

"Yes," he growled. The woman jumped at the sound of his voice, not expecting the frightening tone. He quickly began to move away from the woman, holding onto his last strand of sanity.

"You've been paid, now go, quickly…and don't say a word about any of this," he warned, before turning on his foot and disappearing into the shadows, his cape billowing behind him. The woman had no idea how lucky she was, he thought disdainfully. If she had spoken one more word, his patience would have fled entirely and there was no telling what he would have done. Indeed, it was good that he left when he had.

Quickly, silently and swiftly, looking like a bat in the night air, he returned to his sanctuary, where the demons that threatened to consume him could be kept at bay by the power of his genius.

* * *

She gazed out the window at the night sky, pleading for the clouds to reveal the glow of the silver moon and allow its welcoming beams to illuminate her tiny bedroom. She sighed, leaning her head against the hard iron window frame, knowing it was a lost cause. There was a storm in the air; she could feel it in her bones. Tris sighed again and wrapped her arms around her body, shivering, but not from the cold night air.

She had awoken only a few moments ago from the strange dream once more that caused her body to tremble violently. She was confused; her surroundings were strange and after a brief moment's pause, she remembered that both she and her father were staying at a cheap flat only a few streets away from the Opera House. Indeed, she could see its domes rising over the rooftops in front of her. And once again, she had that strange feeling that it was looking right back at her, even though her…

Despite the stories Tris begged her mother to tell, there really were no such thing as monsters or ghosts. Tris cursed herself for thinking earlier that ghosts were romantic and intriguing. She was lost in the beauty of the Opera House; now after having that strange dream, she felt ghosts could be anything but.

"Maybe it wasn't a ghost," she whispered to herself. "Maybe it really was a man…"

She shook her head, feeling so foolish for analyzing something that meant nothing to her. Perhaps Caleb was right. Perhaps her dreams were just nightmares, pure and simple. And now she was awake and the dream was gone. She was safe, and things for both she and her family were going to be alright. Caleb was to play the piano for the orchestra, her father would help with the administration side of the Opera House, and she was…going to work as Jeanine's costume girl. The very thought turned Tris' stomach.

She recalled how her father and Caleb would not stop apologizing to her that whole afternoon while they moved into their new flat.

"I can always tell them that I won't play if you are not given a place in the chorus-" She stopped her brother immediately and scolded him for daring to think such things.

She reasoned with the both of them, explaining that she was still young, she had plenty of opportunity in her life to be a singer, and she could always audition for the next season. And they could not afford to play such silly games with the managers to simply cater to her dreams.

Things were going to be alright, she reminded herself. While his position was deemed merely temporary, she was sure that once Caleb played for the orchestra, they would find something permanent for him. He was such a great musician, and their mother would be proud of him. Tris sighed again and quickly wiped the tear that was threatening to trickle down her cheek. While the splendor of the city was certainly dazzling, she missed her home in Chicago.

She gazed one last time at the Opera House before shutting her window and returning to bed. She would dream of singing, instead of ghosts and monsters. She would work hard to win Jeanine's favor and audition for the company the following season. Yes, that was what she would concentrate on. She smiled at her determined thoughts, and closed her eyes, waiting for her dreams of singing at the Opera House to fill her head.

But it was a different music that invaded her senses, a passionate melody that haunted her being. Somewhere in the night, across the miles of darkness, there was music; a sad sweet song that squeezed at her heart. And when she dreamt, it was that song she sang.

* * *

The day had been long for Tori, the ballet mistress that all the stage hands feared. No one dared to cross paths with her, not even Jeanine. Everyone believed that Tori's icy demeanor came from an old knee injury resulted from a carriage accident that prevented her from ever dancing again and killed her brother, or the fact that her own charge was the rising star of the ballet, and she was being over protective. If they only knew the whole truth, she thought to herself. Yes, it had been a long day indeed; after a vigorous rehearsal she was left to find lodgings for Natalie's family. She didn't say much to either of them, yet observed the four of them closely, judging whether or not they could be trusted. It had been years since she had last seen the Piors and she knew people could change. Satisfied that they could be, she thought despite the late hour, now was as good a time as any to tell him of the day's events.

There were many secret passages that led to his lair; she knew about half of them. She also knew where to avoid the traps he set for intruders. Dressed in her traditional matron's black, she walked with dignity through the tunnels to where there was light burning in the distance, as well as the rising cords of organ music.

As she grew closer, there were movements off to the side. Any other person would have run screaming, but she continued on, nodding her head to the figures that watched from the shadows. Finally, she came upon a clearing in the cavern, where hundreds of candles lit the room, illuminating the space in an orange glow. In one corner sat a figure clad in black, hard at work over a piece of music.

"I do not recall inviting you here madam," spoke a cold dark voice.

"I was not aware I needed an invitation, monsieur," she replied just as coldly.

The figure chuckled. "It would never matter; you come as you please, just like me."

Tori felt the corners of her lips twitch at that. "We are more alike than you can imagine, Eric."

He made a sound to her words and continued going over the score in front of him. She stood silently while he played several cords on the organ before him, before stopping and examining the music again.

"A new opera?"

He smiled. "I'm already hard at work planning the next season." He picked up a pen and made a few changes on the sheet of music. "So what brings you here besides the dazzling conversation?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Tori was not one to beat around the bush so she spoke quite plainly. "The managers hired a new pianist."

Eric dropped the pen and his muscles went rigid. "Today?"

"Yes."

He slowly turned to face the ballet mistress, his eyes ablaze with fury. "When did this take place?" he asked, his voice fighting for calmness.

Tori knew he did not like it when anyone focused on his face. She glanced briefly to see whether he was masked or not. She was pleased to see that he was.

"Just this afternoon, around three. I did come to tell you shortly after dusk, but…I learned you were otherwise…engaged."

Eric ignored the disgust in her voice and brushed past her to where he kept more parchment. She sighed and continued speaking.

"Are you truly surprised? They have been in desperate need of a new pianist since…the rather surprising 'disappearance' of Monsieur Robert…" she watched him for any reaction, but received none. "Eric, what did you do with the man? Was his playing that offensive to you?"

He ignored her statements, showing no emotion to any of her words. "Who is this man, this new pianist?" he demanded, not looking her.

Typical, she thought. "His name is Caleb. He's Natalie Prior's son."

"Means nothing to me," Eric icily replied, brushing past her again to the organ. He sat down and began furiously writing notes on the new parchment. "Can he play?"

Tori sighed. "I have not yet heard him, but I do believe he will do the orchestra well."

Eric scoffed at her words. "Amazing how a man who has not even played is regarded as a musical genius."

He was extremely displeased. He knew the managers of the Opera House were idiots, but he never thought they would hire a random person off the streets who held a violin in his hands. Tori knew he was extremely upset. Eric disliked change, and quite frankly, he had been in a bad mood for the past two years ever since Max and David became the Opera House managers. Unlike all the others before them, these two didn't follow Eric's instructions very well, not to mention their love for money was far greater than their love for music and art. Hence why Jeanine was the star.

"And those fools actually think they run this theater," he growled beneath his breath.

"Please be kind Eric, they're Natalie's family," Tori pleaded. "They have nowhere else to go."

Eric's head popped up from his writing. "They?"

She sighed. "Yes, Monsieur Caleb Prior, and his father and sister."

Eric rolled his eyes and groaned loudly, before arranging the music just so and trying the new notes on the organ. "I detest children; I will not allow a child to run around in my theater!"

"Mademoiselle Prior is a young woman, Eric."

He stopped his playing momentarily. "Oh?"

"Yes... though Mademoiselle Prior is a girl still, if you ask me. She just turned eighteen."

"Ah, I see," he whispered, before resuming his playing. "A spinster then."

Tori rolled her eyes. "Hardly. She is no older than Christina, and she had hopes of joining the chorus-"

"Do not tell me they hired her too?" Eric groaned, turning and looking at the ballet mistress. "We don't need any more singers! We have the right amount for pitch and quality; I thought that was perfectly clear to those fools!"

Eric stood up swiftly, knocking over the stool he was sitting on. He began to furiously pace, his breathing becoming harsh and uneven.

The only singer I would welcome is someone to replace that harpy they have warbling day after day! That, madam, is why I must flee this place now and then…if I don't, I'll become madder than I already am…" he sighed and slowed his pacing, however his large powerful hands were tightened into fists. If he could, he would kill Jeanine this very night, and he would have no regrets whatsoever. It was this infernal woman's pleas that kept him from doing so. It was also the fact that Jeanine, being a supposed "star" would no doubt cause a riot of some kind. But one day, if things went too far, he would throw caution to the wind and do what he had been longing to do ever since she first stepped foot in his Opera House and opened her mouth.

Tori saw the rage written across Eric's masked face, his visibly constricting on his tattooed neck, and quickly continued, hoping it would calm him. "Mademoiselle Prior was not hired for the chorus…she is to work as Carlotta's costume girl."

Eric relaxed somewhat, but a new rage began to spread within him.

"These fools will hire anyone, won't they?" He began to pace again. "A costume girl is even worse! Gives her more of an excuse to snoop around! She could trespass easily, and then I would be forced to take matters into my own hands, and you know as well as I, madam, that I cannot abide trespassers."

His voice was dark and cold. It sent a shiver down Tori's spine, for she had seen what Eric had done to previous trespassers.

"I warned them both about not going below the stage or taking unknown corridors."

"Do better," he hissed, before stomping back to the organ and fixing the stool so he could resume playing. Eric was one who treated music as precious glass…yet at the moment he was banging the keys with a blind fury.

Tori took a deep breath, knowing there was only one way to calm his anger. "Jeanine accused the young lady for trying to murder her…"

Eric suddenly stopped his playing, his head perking up at the words. "Really? Go on..."

Tory couldn't help but smirk. "Jeanine was rehearsing and Mademoiselle Prior was watching from behind the curtains. Apparently a stage hand attempted to grab Mademoiselle Prior, who side stepped him, causing him to run into a piece of scenery which nearly crushed the managers' beloved star."

Eric rarely laughed, but he found himself grinning at this tale. "Tis a pity the scenery did not succeed," his playing became softer and gentler. "And Jeanine accused the girl?"

"Yes," Tori replied. "Although it was not her fault. It was that drunk Edgar who caused the accident…" she paused before continuing. "You should know that he was fired."

Erik only momentarily paused from his playing.

"That shouldn't bother you," he whispered. "I recall you cursing his name many times for his leering at your precious dancers."

"True," Madame Giry said. "After all, the man was a drunkard, as well as a lout. But I know in some strange way he did you some good."

Eric nodded his head. "The man told more dark tales about me than any of my notes could have done. Because of him not one stage hand or ballerina dares go far below the stage."

He turned the music and continued his playing, the music calmer, sweeter. "Still, it is a small loss…the time would have eventually come when I would not have been able to stand the man and have killed him myself."

"Eric-"

"My dear lady, when are you going to get a sense of humor?"

She eyed him warily. "Perhaps when your jokes are actually funny."

He couldn't help but grin a little at that. "Touché, madam, touché."

She sighed and turned as if to go, but paused momentarily. "You will not harm them, will you?"

Eric did not miss one beat of his playing. "If you are referring to Monsieur Prior and his little family, then no…so long as the boy's playing is decent and they all stay in their place and they all follow my rules."

Satisfied by this answer, Tori turned to leave. Like their greeting, there were no formalities when they parted. She climbed the steps and took the passages that led her out of Eric's purgatory to the human world. All the while, his music followed her every step.

Eric continued his playing, however his mind was wandering to the news that was recently shared with him. He wasn't sure why, but he was deeply intrigued by the Opera House's new tenants. He would have to pay a visit to the Priors and this charming girl of theirs. He found himself wondering about her, wondering what she was like, how she looked, whether she had a love for music. Could the girl sing? Tori said that she had hopes to join the chorus. He brushed the thought away, knowing there were many women who auditioned year after year to sing in the Opera, and few had talent of any kind. This girl was probably no different from them…yet why did this unknown woman intrigue him so?

The tensions that drove him out earlier were beginning to rise again. No amount of music could soothe this need. He cursed his weakness and adjusted his cloak so that his masked face could be hidden. Damn him, and damn this girl for causing such weakness. Indeed, he would find out more about her, and perhaps, just perhaps, she could satisfy these primal urges that possessed his soul and kept him as a beast, instead of a man.


	4. III: Masquerade

**Ugh, I so didn't like writing this chapter. It was just so weird and so OOC for some characters. This chapter is semi-M and in regards to Four and Jeanine (I made Four Raoul instead of Peter)- I'm so sorry, I really am. I'm going to go take a clean shower from this. Please enjoy!**

* * *

"Our lives are one masked ball."  
― **Gaston Leroux**

The elegant carriage pulled up in front of the Opera House causing several people on the street to stop and whisper amongst themselves. The driver quickly jumped down from his seat to open the door for the carriage's occupant. Several ladies who were walking stopped and stared at the figure that arose from the carriage; those who were holding fans immediately began to rapidly fan themselves.

He was a tall man, slim but muscular as was the fashion at the time. He was elegantly dressed in a gray suit with a high collar, his black shoes polished and glistening, his white tie tucked into his slightly ruffled tunic. A top hat made of black satin crowned his dark almost black slicked back hair; he tipped it to the ladies who were admiring his emergence. He stepped down from the carriage steps, muttering words to his coachman while he placed his gray linen gloves over his long tapered fingers. He lifted his eyes to the Opera House and smiled; his face was clean shaven, his posture straight, his teeth white, his eyes a sparkling dark and light blue. And when he began to walk up those steps, there seemed to be this air of power that followed him with every step and tap of his ebony cane. He was like Apollo, dazzling at first sight, and forever burning an image within your mind's eye after he had disappeared from view

Inside the Opera House, things were well underway for the opera that would be kicking off the season in a matter of days. Ballet dancers were frantically perfecting their steps, while stage hands worked on sets and the orchestra tuned their instruments. Caleb was turning out to be the toast of the orchestra. In a matter of hours he was close to perfecting the score for the upcoming opera; the managers were well pleased with their decision as well as making the father the opera's administrative assistant.

Sadly, Tris herself was not having the same good fortune. When Jeanine first discovered that Tris was to be her costume girl, she had a fit that could rival the most spoiled of children. She screamed, stamped her feet, swore, and then stomped off to lock herself away in her dressing room for a good hour, while the managers stood outside her door and pleaded for her to come out. Tris rolled her eyes to the whole incident, thinking that despite Jeanine's elegant dresses and years of stage experience, a dog could both sing and act better. While the managers pleaded, Tris busied herself with her tasks, mending costumes that had snares, and ironing ones with wrinkles. She delicately laid them out, examining them closely to see if she had missed any repair work, all the while feeling as if someone…or something, were watching her.

Ever since she and her family had arrived that morning, Tris had the suspicion she was being watched. By whom, she had no idea, for every time she turned her head to look, she saw no one. The feeling was strange; most of the time she felt chilled and uneasy, but she would also feel admired and…she blushed when she recalled feeling somewhat, aroused. She shook her head to the whole thing, believing that once again, it was her imagination running wild. And any other thoughts on the matter were quickly disposed of as Jeanine returned, dabbing her nose and eyes with the handkerchief Max had given her. David, Max, and the lead tenor and Jeanine's admirer Edward followed, each filling the air with praises to her. The whole thing made Tris sick.

Jeanine waved her hand, which temporarily stopped the three men from making further idiots of themselves, and turned to Tris.

"I have decided I will allow you to continue being my costume girl," she sweetly purred, a fake smile creasing the corners of her lips.

Tris stared at the woman.

Jeanine's sweet smile was beginning to fade. Her arms were folded and she was tapping her foot, as if waiting for Tris to fall to her knees and thank God above for granting her this fine honor. Was the woman that conceited?

"Well?"

Tris jumped at the sudden bark that escaped the prima donna's lips. Jeanine quickly smoothed back a silky blonde curl that had escaped from her shout. She smiled again at Tris and said in that sweet voice she had used earlier, "Have you nothing to say, my dear?"

Tris wanted to tell the woman what she really thought. She wanted to tell Jeanine she had no talent, that while she strutted across the stage like a peacock, she sounded like a crow. She wanted to tell the woman that her behavior was disgusting and that there were more important things going on in the world than how one's hair looks or what fabric one's dress is made from. She wanted to scream, and perhaps even strike the woman…but she remembered her Caleb and their father and how much a remark towards Jeanine could jeopardize Caleb's place in the orchestra. So she swallowed her pride and lifted her chin.

"I have repaired the silk ball gown you were planning to wear for the opening gala."

Jeanine stared at the girl. Tris showed no emotion on her face, but inside she was laughing at the blank expression she was receiving from the so-called great star. Not the answer Jeanine Matthews was expecting, let alone looking for, but it was not one she could scream at either.

"What a handy little thing you are," she said through clenched teeth, mustering all the sweetness her voice could create. Fake pleasantry was perhaps the worst acting Jeanine could do.

Tris smiled, placing the gown gently back down on the table, while the managers and Edward exchanged worried looks between one another, knowing that the young woman was playing with fire.

"Well!" David interrupted. "I must say, keep up the good work mademoiselle, you'll do fine in the opera business I'm sure!"

Jeanine only gave Tris a cold smile. "Yes my dear, do show me what else you've accomplished. I can see that life in America has perfected your skills in…humble domestic crafts. Not exactly the life I would expect for the daughter of a former prima donna."

Tris flinched to the stinging words, but refused to show Jeanine any sign of their effect. "I'm sure my mother would be thrilled that I have air in my lungs and another day to live…there is one dress that I have pinned together that was literally falling to pieces…"

She turned to retrieve the dress, while Jeanine took the hot iron Tris had used earlier and placed it, hot side up, near Tris' arm. The second the girl turned back, she gave a yelp of pain as her skin made contact with the iron, causing her to drop the dress in her hands onto the floor (thus sending pins and pieces flying every which way) and to knock the iron over with her elbow and land on a beautiful white silk gown.

"AH! YOU CLUMSY LITTLE FOOL! LOOK WHAT YOU'VE DONE TO MY COSTUME!"

The managers turned quickly to Jeanine's shouts, and Edward was by her side in a second. "My darling! What happened? What did the wretched girl do?"

Tris was still rubbing the painful burn on her arm before she realized what had happened. She gasped and lifted the iron off the dress, but the damage had already been done. A large brown stain and several tiny holes remained on the dress as souvenirs from the iron. Tris lifted her shocked eyes to Jeanine's face, surprised and enraged upon seeing the smirk in the woman's eyes.

"This…this little idiot has ruined two of my costumes!" she shouted to both Edward and the managers who had rushed to her side. "She has not only ruined the gown I must wear for Faust by sticking atrocious pieces of fabric to it, but she has also burnt a hole in the silk gown I must wear for Hannibal!"

Max and David stared at Tris, not sure what to say, but knowing if they did not do something quickly, Jeanine would explode.

"Don't just stand there, fire this wretched little thing!" Edward shouted in defense of Jeanine. He attempted to wrap his arm around her but she shrugged it off immediately.

"Fire her?" David asked, glancing at Max with worried eyes. With only five days till the opening night of the opera season, they needed the Prior boy to play in the orchestra more than ever. If they fired the girl they knew they would lose him too. But they couldn't displease Jeanine either! They were in a very tight spot indeed. "Perhaps we can come to an arrangement madame-"

"Arrangement?" Jeanine exclaimed. "There will be no arrangement! This stupid little-"

A gruff male cough interrupted Jeanine's shrieks. "Um…beg your pardon, but is this a bad time?"

The managers and Jeanine turned their heads and all exclaimed at once, "MONSIEUR!"

Tris, whose cheeks were still burning red from both Jeanine's cruel words and foul tricks, stared at the man with whom the others appeared to be enamored. He was very handsome; tall, dark, and obviously wealthy judging by the clothes he wore. He looked right past the admiring managers who were crowding around him and stared into her eyes. She felt her knees go weak and reached out to clutch the table at her side.

"Good day," he said with an elegant bow of his head. Tris swallowed the lump in her throat and gave the man a small curtsey. He smiled at her and she felt that strange feeling in her knees again.

"Well, who is this pretty little thing?" he asked the managers who were still singing praises into his ears.

"Who? Oh! Just the new costume girl. Monsieur, we are so pleased you came to see us today. As you can see, we are well underway in preparing for the opening gala-"

"Yes, yes, it is all looking wonderful Max," the man said with a wave of his hand, his smile still remaining on Tris. "And what is your name, mademoiselle?"

Tris stared for a long time at the man, trying to find her voice, but it was Jeanine who spoke in her stead.

"What does it matter? The girl is incompetent with costumes, as I'm sure she is with everything!" she thrusted the burnt dress in the man's face. "

See what I have to put up with monsieur?" she pouted. The man gave a weak smile to the prima donna before turning and looking to the managers for answers.

"Oh! Um…" Max glanced at Tris, trying to remember the name. "Prior…Bertha Prior, I believe."

Tris frowned and lifted her chin, looking directly into the handsome man's eyes. "My name is-"

"Silence!" Jeanine barked, throwing the burnt gown in Tris' face. She then turned and smiled sweetly up at the gentleman.

"My dear monsieur, had I been expecting your surprise visit I would have dressed more elegantly for you." The man smiled warmly at Jeanine as she batted her eyes, causing Edward to fidget with jealousy.

Tris glanced back and forth between the handsome man and the cow that had burnt her. The two acted as if they knew each other…rather well.

"Monsieur, um…we have some matters of business to discuss with you. There have been some notes-"

"All in good time David," the man answered without taking his eyes off Jeanine . "I first have some matters of business to go over with Madame Matthews. She has written to me of her displeasure with the way things are run here…" he glanced at the managers, the handsome smile disappearing and being replaced with a serious frown.

"D-d-d-displeasure?" both men stuttered, looking at one another and Jeanine in horror.

"Yes," Jeanine snapped, linking her arm with that of the handsome man.

"Much displeasure and hiring that girl is now on the top of my list!" she began to lead the man away from the managers who were too flabbergasted to utter a single word. "Come monsieur," she said with a twirl of her skirts. "Let us go to my dressing room to talk things over."

The man turned his head back to Tris and gave her one last charming smile before he was literally dragged away by the boorish opera star. Tris' face continued to burn as she watched the two walk away, her emotions confused. Yes, the man was indeed handsome, and his smile appeared warm and inviting, while his words and manner were quite charming. But there was something about him that didn't seem right; it was probably the company he seemed to prefer to keep.

The managers finally dashed away, both pale and stuttering worries about what must be done to please Jeanine. Edward immediately followed in Jeanine's wake, trying to catch up with the pair. Tris sighed, looking at the burnt costume in her hands, wishing she had intentionally caused the burn with Jeanine in the costume. She bent down to retrieve the dress that had fallen apart on the ground when a small voice caught her attention.

"I can't believe it…he actually spoke to you!"

Tris glanced up, seeing that the voice belonged to a petite ballet dancer with dark complexion, short brunette bob, and wide eyes. It was Christina, the lead dancer and charge of the ballet mistress.

"Do you know who that was?" she asked Tris, her voice filled with excitement. Tris shook her head, confused at Christina's behavior.

"Christina! Was it him? Has he come back?"

Christina grinned and nodded her head to several other ballet girls who were standing back a little ways. The group burst into squeals and excited shrieks. Tris needed answers.

"Who is he?" she asked, rather irritably.

The girls looked at one another, rolled their eyes, and then exploded into giggles again. Christina however kept some composure, at least enough to explain.

"He's Tobias Eaton, the Vicomte de Sevoy!" Tris' blank expression forced the girl to continue. "The highest paying patron of the Palais Garnier!"

At last it all fitted together. That was why the managers were falling over themselves and why they panicked at Jeanine's mention of displeasure. Tris stared after the direction the Vicomte had disappeared, feeling like a fool for thinking that for a moment he admired her, and that she thought him kind and charming. They may not have had titles of nobility back in the United States, but Tris was no fool; a man with wealth and prestige only looked at a woman in her situation for one thing.

"Girls!" the dancers stopped their giggling and quickly scampered back to where they should have been practicing. Madame Tori Wu emerged from the curtains and looked crossly at all of them.

"Christina!" she barked at the embarrassed girl. "What is the meaning of this?"

Christina fidgeted and bit her lip.

"I'm sorry Madame, it was just…" Tori lifted a dark eyebrow, awaiting the girl's answer. "It was just…well…we saw the Vicomte de Sevoy, and-"

Tori's face paled at the name. "The Vicomte is here?"

Christina nodded her head, her face turning from embarrassment to worry. "Tori- I mean Madame, are you alright?"

Tori gave her head a quick shake to compose herself and lifted her chin, her face returning to its cold expression.

"Do not let me catch you or any of the other girls wandering away when you should be practicing," she ordered through tight lips. Christina nodded her head, still looking concerned, but scampered off in the direction the other dancers had gone. Tris stared up at the ballet mistress whose face returned to one of worry. She wrung her hands together, fidgeting slightly, biting her lip, and glancing about wildly.

"Madame? Are…are you alright?" Tris rose to her feet and placed one hand gently on the woman's arm. "Is there anything I can get you? A glass of water perhaps?"

Tori finally acknowledged Tris, but her expression did not change.

"Where did he go?" was all she asked.

"He left with Ms. Matthews…they are going to discuss 'business matters' in her dressing room." What was going on? Tori lifted an eyebrow at Tris' statement.

"Well he'll be occupied for some time," she muttered under her breath.

"I beg your pardon?"

Tori looked at Tris and smiled a small smile at her. Despite what the stage hands may have muttered about the woman, Tris could tell the ballet mistress truly did have warmth underneath the cold exterior she showed.

"Thank you my dear, but no, I'm truly fine." Without another word she turned and quickly walked away, leaving a confused Tris in her wake.

* * *

"My dear, I must implore that I stay-"

Jeanine groaned and gave Edward the cruelest of looks. "Be gone! I have many important matters to discuss with the Vicomte and I do not need you breathing down my bodice!"

Tobias Eaton couldn't help but chuckle at the prima donna's words. He stood just outside Jeanine's dressing room with Edward blocking the entranceway. The young man was loyal, one could not deny that. It amazed the Tobias that despite Jeanine's obvious displeasure for the man, he still willingly remained her lap dog.

Edward continued to glance back and forth between the Tobias and Jeanine with unease. He didn't like it when this man came for visits. He didn't care that the man was rich, or that he was the reason both he and Jeanine had jobs at the Paris Opera House. He saw the way his lovely English Rose looked at the man, and vice versa. Jeanine sighed and realized it was time to resort to other necessary battle moves.

"Edward," she said in a sweet manipulative voice. "Why do you worry? Do you think my virtue is in danger if I allow the Vicomte into my dressing room?"

Edward bit his lip and shifted back and forth a little, glancing at the Vicomte with slight distrust. Jeanine smiled and reached out to caress the tenor's face.

"I admire your chivalry. You truly are my knight in shining armor." Her voice was dripping with fake sweetness, yet Edward was enamored. He was cracking.

"I assure you I will be quite safe…and I will cry out if I am in need…but I will be perfectly fine. And knowing you are near warms my heart and fills me with such…" she leaned close and planted a soft meek kiss on the tenor's lips. "…passion."

She had won. Edward melted away from the dressing room door and smiled bashfully at his lady love. She smiled back and winked at him, while she disappeared into the room, Tobias merely smirking behind her. The second they had entered the dressing room, she slammed the door shut, locked it, and began to spit.

"Eh! The stench of him is all over me. I'll have to burn this dress!"

Tobias continued to smirk, placing his hat and gloves on her dressing table. "He's quite attached to you, more than ever I see…and quite suspicious…"

Jeanine groaned. "Do not remind me! And to think…I have to kiss him in the opera we are performing!"

She squealed when she felt two powerful hands grab her by the shoulders and twirled her around. She found herself being pressed to the Vicomte's body, and she went limp the second she felt his hard frame mold to her own.

"How will I be able to control myself then? Seeing you on stage with him…" one of his hands went up to her hair and began to pull the pins out, causing the blonde curls to fall across her shoulders. "…in his arms…" he ran his hands up and down her arms in a sensual manner. "…kissing him…" his lips captured hers and she melted even more, returning the passionate kiss and clawing at his dress coat. Tobias pulled back immediately.

"Careful!" he hissed, removing her hands and looking at the coat to be sure it wasn't damaged. "This was quite expensive, I'll have you know."

Jeanine pouted and folded her arms crossly as he carefully removed the coat from his body. "I don't seem to recall you ever feeling a need to be careful with my expensive gowns!"

Tobias grinned, and purposely placed his coat on top of a large white box that was sitting at the chair before her dressing table. Jeanine's eyes followed where his coat went, and she looked at him for confirmation. When he nodded, she squealed happily and tore at the box like a child at Christmas. He had to carefully remove the coat again.

"OH! Monsieur, it is most beautiful…" she whispered, pulling the elegant gown from the box. It was pink, with blue ruffles and black lace. There was a billowy train and a very low neckline that glittered with black and blue sequins. Most people would look at such a gown and find it atrocious, however the Vicomte had long since learned that Jeanine's taste in fashion was just that.

"Now you truly can burn that gown," he chuckled, coming closer to place kisses on the back of Jeanine's neck while his expert fingers began to undo the buttons on her present dress.

Jeanine whimpered at his touch and leaned back against him. "It has been far too long monsieur since our last encounter…I was beginning to think you had forgotten me…"

"You?" he said with mock horror. "Never…"

While one hand continued to undo the buttons, the other climbed higher and began to sink beneath the bodice of her dress. She moaned when she felt the Vicomte's hand close around one breast. He smiled at her reaction and leaned closer, his lips tickling her ear as he nibbled the lobe slightly.

"Now…I have a favor to ask of you…" his fingers stroked her breast and she gasped as he began to cruelly caress it.

"Mmmm…aanything…" she whimpered, leaning back and purposely pushing her back further against his body. He groaned at the movement, but years of experience in the art of lovemaking had taught him self-control.

"Good girl…" he hissed, biting her neck briefly, while his other hand moved to lift up her skirts. "I want you to tell me…" her skirts were up to her thighs. "…everything you can…" he pushed the stockings and garters down. "…about your adorable little costume girl…"

Jeanine's eyes flew open and she pushed Tobias' hands away before tearing herself away from his body. "WHAT?"

Tobias sighed and closed his eyes momentarily to prepare himself for the shrieks that were to follow.

"WHY THE HELL DO YOU WANT TO KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT HER? SHE'S GARBAGE, SHE'S SLIME, SHE'S-"

"Be quiet!" The Vicomte snapped. "Do you want all of Paris to hear you?"

The fire in Jeanine's eyes grew wilder and she fashioned her dress, stockings, and garters back into place- clearly the moment was ruined. "FUCK PARIS! I DON'T CARE IF ALL OF FRANCE HEARS ME! ANSWER ME WHY YOU WANT TO KNOW!"

The Vicomte stared back at Jeanine, his hands closing into tight fists of rage, eager to wrap themselves around the soprano's pretty neck and snap it in two. However, he knew the best way to handle situations like this was not to lose one's temper. And he too could play the same games that Jeanine played on Edward.

"My dear, I am only interested in knowing what all is going on in my theater," he crooned, putting on his most charming smile and slowly walking towards her. He hoped the passion that filled his eyes would weaken her; however, Tobias realized it would take more coaxing, as Jeanine was having none of it.

"I am not a fool, Vicomte!" she snapped. "You think I know nothing about your infamous reputation? You think I know nothing about the many chorus girls and ballet dancers you've bedded? You think I don't know that one of the main reasons you patronize the Opera House is so you can be assured of a pretty young face, with a mouth wide and open and willing-"

"That was _before_ I met you!" Tobias lied, coming to her in two strides. He was truly an actor when professing false words and phrases of flattery and love.

"I will not deny my past, but the moment I saw you perform on stage in London and heard your voice, you alone are the only woman I think about, dream about…" his hand caressed her breasts above the hemline of her bodice. "…and the only woman I want in my bed…"

Jeanine melted slightly to his words, especially as she felt his hands move back to remove her dress. Still, she tried to show some self-control.

"Why then do you care about who she is…" she hissed, her lips going dry as she felt his fingers inch closer to the pulsing heat between her thighs.

Tobias grinned as he could tell he was winning this battle.

"My dear, did you not say that the girl was incompetent?" His lips brushed against hers as his fingers traced the outline of her waist and hips by the silken undergarments she wore.

Jeanine moaned and melted even more, licking her lips and trembling beneath his touch. "That is true…"

He grinned and slowly helped her of her dress.

"Yes, it is…and you're not happy…" he whispered against her cheek, already undoing the laces of her corset. "I only want to make you happy Jeanine…I only want to give you pleasure…"

His fingers were softly running against her thighs as he took off her stockings and garments, and he could see from the expression on her face that she would tell him anything so long as he didn't stop.

"Her name, Jeanine…" he huskily whispered, refusing to do anything as she remained bare. "Tell me her name…"

She couldn't take it anymore. She need him inside her now.

"Beatrice Prior. Such plain name for an annoying trollop!" She sniffed, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him passionately, while Tobias lifted her body with one arm, and the other cleared the dressing table before placing her down on top of it. He removed all his clothing and flashed a debonair arrogant smile.

"Thank you my dear, " he groaned before he entered inside her, laughing inwardly at how easy it truly was to get a woman to reveal or do anything with a little "coaxing".

Already, he was imagining the pretty costume girl as the one before him, as the one he was so eagerly fucking, instead of this dried up singer who was clinging to what little youth and beauty she once had. But as he had learned, from the time his father had taken him to a brothel at the age of sixteen after a beating to "make a man out of him", any woman could be easily bought at the right price. Sometimes it took money, sometimes jewels or other expensive gifts, sometimes even words of affection and love; but every woman had a price, and it only took the Vicomte de Sevoy little time to learn what it was, before luring a woman to his bed. Jeanine definitely suited his purposes; he knew she was once a star in Britain, and with the right publicity, he could make her a star in France and get more money into his pockets. And if that meant having to come every now and then and listen to her litany of complaints before finally moving onto "normal business", as he referred it, then so be it. Whatever it took for him to get what he wanted.

He looked up from the screaming woman, and smiled at his own reflection in the mirror. He continued to look at himself while he thrusted in and out of her body, thinking of all the wealth he was acquiring from her so-called talents, thinking of his next escapade: bedding the costume girl. She looked young, full of virtue; he loved breaking virgins in. She would be a most eager student, he grinned. Yes, he would soon seduce her to his bed, and gain much pleasure for himself from her. Jeanine was business, but the costume girl would be his pleasure. And he loved mixing the two together. He thought all these things while he smiled at his own reflection, before crying out his own release.

* * *

Tori hurried down the stone steps that led to Eric's lair, her face pale and covered with worry lines. She carefully avoided the passages that she knew were booby trapped, all the while hurrying as fast as she could. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shadowy figure.

"Where is he?" she called out to it. The figure made a groaning sound before pointing off to the right. She nodded her head in thanks and took the passage the figure had indicated. The sound of music filled the cavern and chasm before her, and she knew he would not be pleased to be interrupted while working.

"Eric! Eric!" she called out, while she crossed the candlelit cavern.

The organ music stopped, and the figure stood, his shoulders slumping slightly before straightening his back.

"I'm very busy, what is it?"

She stopped a few feet away from him, panting and clutching her chest while she tried to regain her composure. "He's…h-here…"

Eric turned, his face masked and the visible eyebrow arching in speculation.

"Tobias Eaton? The Vicomte de Sevoy?" he simply asked. Tori looked at him with surprise.

"You know?" she asked, her breathing slowly returning to normal. Eric waved his hand in a blasé manner. "

It's my theater, is it not?" he said, before adding under his breath, "Despite what that son of a bitch thinks." He reseated himself at the organ and began to play.

"Besides, it was rather hard to ignore the harpy's shrieks…at least in climax the woman can hit a proper note."

Tori shuddered and tried not to think of the unfortunate image. She was surprised, however, with how cool Eric was behaving. Normally he would fly into rages when he learned that the Vicomte was at the Opera House. Eric despised Tobias Eaton, and she could not blame him. The man wore the mask of a gentleman, when in truth he was more of a monster than Eric ever could be. True, Eric had committed acts of terror and murder, but the Vicomte…his crimes were so much more heinous to the ballet mistress, especially since she knew that he was responsible for impregnating three of her dancers over the past five years. One girl died when seeking crude means to have an abortion, while the other two were thrown out onto the street with nowhere to go and no money. Tori had no idea what happened to them, and she cursed the Vicomte for ruining all three lives.

She also knew the many reasons Eric despised the Vicomte…so why was he acting so nonchalant?

"You…you do not care then?" she asked, not daring to come around and face him, but unsure what else to do or say. The Phantom ceased his playing momentarily and sighed heavily.

"Oh, I care very much indeed," he growled under his breath, before his fingers violently banged against the organ keys, causing the cavern walls to shake.

Eric's reasoning for despising Tobias Eaton was somewhat different. Like the current managers, the Vicomte cared very little for art and music, and more for the money that rolled into the Opera House. While the Vicomte was a patron, he also had stock in the Opera House, and ten of the profits from every performance went straight into his pocket. The Vicomte was also the one responsible for placing Jeanine at the Opera House, a sin that Eric would never forgive the man for. Yet the crime that Eric held over the Vicomte more than any other was what he did to Nita, a dancer Eric had fancied himself in love with when he was much younger.

Eric was only nineteen when he saw the girl on stage for the first time. She was beautiful, with long dark brown hair, a dark brown complexion, and large soft brown eyes. For the first time, he sent her love notes and flowers, thinking she would find it romantic that she had a secret admirer at the Opera. However, his love sick dreams were dashed when the Vicomte de Sevoy, a boy of sixteen at that time, easily seduced the star-struck girl, making her believe he was the one who had sent her the flowers and notes!

Eric wanted to interfere, but feared if he revealed himself a mob would discover his whereabouts and force him back to the life he had long escaped as a boy. So he waited, and plotted how he would make the young Vicomte pay. Nita, the foolish girl, believed that Tobias truly loved her, and that the two were going to run away to get married. She abandoned her dreams of performing for the scoundrel, disappearing early one cold November morning, never to be seen again. It wasn't until after the death of Tobias' father, that the Vicomte returned to the Opera House, some three years later. No one knew what had become of Nita, and the Vicomte did not seem upset at all.

The man was a snake; Eric saw how he strode about the theater as if he owned it, giving musicians advice, telling the managers how to run the business, and bedding chorus girls and dancers along the way. The time would come when he would have his revenge for all the atrocities the Vicomte had put him through.

But revenge was a dish best served cold…and simply killing the man was too polite. No, Eric would have his revenge when the time was right, and it would be a long, agonizing revenge, one full of screaming and begging. This little joy made him smile, and he easily regained his cool demeanor, despite his random outbursts of rage.

It was this show of emotion that Tori feared most. She could not think of what else to say, and he seemed so engrossed with his music that she turned and began to walk away. Yet before she left, he casually called out to her, "I've seen the Prior girl."

Tori paused and slowly turned back. "And…?"

"She is very pretty, you did not tell me that," he said with a simple wave of his hand, before turning the page of the score before him. He furrowed his eyes when thought of her. He didn't get a clear view of her from up the rafters, but for some unforeseen reason, she seemed familiar to him. He felt as though he had met the girl before, but he couldn't scrounge up a possible reason as to why he should have.

"She appears to be a hard worker, her care for costumes is impressive," he added and gave a harsh smirk and laugh. "But what I admire about her most…is the way she refused to give Jeanine the satisfaction of 'thanking her' for the opportunity to work under her."

Tori gave a small smile, but sighed sadly. "I fear Jeanine will make her life a living hell."

"Jeanine makes everyone's life a living hell," Eric grumbled. "At least she had the courage to stand up to the harpy, despite the so-called accident the bitch did to her."

"Accident?" Tori's brow furrowed with confusion.

"It doesn't matter," Eric replied casually, turning the page of the score. "The pianist plays very well too and the father seems to do a better job at managing and supervising a theater instead of those two idiot managers. They both can stay so long as they continue to obey the rules."

Tori nodded her head and turned to leave, but Eric called out to her one last time. "I have a note for you to deliver. Lynn has it, see her before you leave."

Tori nodded her head again, finally leaving to retrieve the letter Eric had written. He listened to her distancing footsteps while he continued to play the sweet cords of music written before him. He noticed out of the corner of his eye a hunched figure approaching.

"I'm busy Uriah, you know I do not wish to be disturbed while working," He said icily. The figure remained in the shadows, but nodded its head.

"I know. Forgive me, master," he slowly replied, quietly. "I just couldn't help overhearing that you were talking…about the costume girl…"

Eric nodded his head, not lifting his gaze from the music. "Yes, and what of it?"

The figure shuffled his feet a little before finally responding. "I like her. She seems different…nice…like the girl…"

Erik paused and looked at the hunched figure. "What girl?"

Uriah nodded his shaved dark head. "Yes… from the story about the girl two tried to save you…"

Eric rolled his eyes and groaned and quickly resumed his playing. "There is no such person, Uriah. She's not real."

The hunched figure shifted his feet nervously again, his voice barely above a whisper. "But Will says…"

Eric's fists came crashing down on the organ as his temper flared.

"THERE IS NO SUCH PERSON!" He shouted, his voice echoing throughout the cavern and passageways. Uriah gave a cry of fear and quickly backed away, molding his frame to the stone wall, as if hoping the shadow would keep him safe. Eric sighed and took several long breaths before lifting his head and speaking again, his tone icy, but calm.

"She doesn't exist, Uriah. There is no girl or woman on earth like that…" he sighed one last time before finally lifting his eyes to where the hunched figure stood shaking. "Beautiful women do not fall in love with monsters like us. We're not to love and be loved, that is the reality of it, and it's better than you learn this now, before…before you do something foolish and risk hurting yourself."

Uriah nodded his head as if he understood, his shoulders sulking he made his way through the dark caverns. Eric sighed and cradled his head in his hands. Damn that girl, somehow she was to blame for this. He recalled the crude scene of the Vicomte and Jeanine, together in her dressing room. He followed her angry shrieks to see if his suspicions were correct, and yes, there was the Vicomte, attempting to win her affections with seductive lies. While Eric was a spy, he was not a voyeur, and had no interest in watching the two people he despised most become like wild animals with one another. But before he turned to leave the disgusting sight, he heard the Vicomte ask for the name of the new costume girl. Jeanine finally conceded, telling him what he wanted to hear, and was thus rewarded with what he had come to the Opera House for all along.

Eric hated the man, but normally did nothing to stop his seductions and rendezvous with the ladies of the Opera House. If they were more concerned with what the Vicomte thought of them, they were not fit to be a part of his theater. However, Eric felt a strange urge within his being to protect the girl from the hands of the handsome monster. He wasn't entirely sure why, as he didn't entirely feel this way for Nita. But he felt compelled to keep a close watch on the girl, to make sure that her virtue, if she had any, wasn't turned into a plaything for the Vicomte.

Yet now her supposed sweet nature was having an effect on Uriah, and he did not need those that he took care of to be filled with such foolish notions, like love and romance. Love got him nothing, and he knew that if he had revealed himself to Nita long ago, she would have rebuked him the second she saw his face. Indeed, love was not meant for creatures like himself. He stopped playing and made his way to his desk where atop the mahogany desk sat an ebony box where he kept most of his private possessions. Peering inside the box, he picked a set of two light grey gloves. There were small enough to fit a small child and were made of the softest wool. Looking back to where Uriah fled and back to the mittens, Eric pondered over Uriah's words. No girl or woman could ever exist like that. He sneered. Even if she did, she would only run away and or become hurt in the end and look where it got him. Monsters were meant to be feared and hated. They were not made for love.

The thought filled Eric with such rage that threw the mittens back in the box and reseated himself in front of his organ. He pounded his fingers on the organ keys till blood flowed in time with the music.


	5. IV: Revelations

**Please enjoy!**

* * *

"Nobody could see the ghost in his box, but everybody could hear him."  
― Gaston Leroux,

The few days that followed the Priors' first day of work at the Palais Garnier went by in a blur. The countdown to the opening gala of the opera season was well underway. Every night, before going to bed, Caleb would play several movements from the opening opera for a minimum of two hours. While he played, Andrew would go over the Opera's finances and Tris would sit and hum along to the tune as she worked meticulously on repairing snared costumes for Jeanine. She discovered that if she imagined herself in Jeanine's place, she could repair the costumes with greater care, as opposed to wanting to make the snares worse.

Andrew was not blind; he noticed his daughter's great distaste for the star soprano. He often mentioned how he could speak with the managers, try to make things better, and when he learned about the burn on her arm, he threatened to tell the woman what he really thought of her and take them out of the opera! It took a good hour for Tris and Caleb to calm their father down and convince him that if they now, they would surely become beggars in the street. And this city, like most, was not kind to beggars.

So the family would pass their evenings engrossed in their work, hoping that may bring some cheer to their situation. Her father would now and then plead for Tris to sing Jeanine's parts, which she refused on the first few occasions, but now, she could not help herself, she loved the role and the songs! One night, while her Caleb played a movement, Tris sprang to her feet and began to twirl around the room, singing the song with all her heart, and acting the part of the character. She would take Andrew by the hand and the two would waltz around the room while Caleb played and Tris would sing and act. Her father laughed at how his daughter would "ham" up the part, sometimes mimicking the awful acting skills of Jeanine, and then he and Caleb would clap and beg for more. Tris blushed, but smiled, knowing that no matter what happened, whether she would ever have a chance to perform, her family always made her feel like a star.

It was these moments when it was just the three of them that Tris was reminded of the time when her mother was alive, and that she cherished and looked forward to at the waking of each day. Indeed, while she was grateful for work, she was not always so eager to return to the Opera House every day.

Before her first day of work was over, Tris' ears had been flooded with countless tales of the mysterious Opera Ghost, otherwise known as the Phantom of the Opera. She heard them first by a few stage hands, grumbling over who would go fetch various props that were being kept below stage. They all complained about the Phantom and how they feared his wrath would bring an end to someone's life…again. Christina and the other ballet girls also had tales. They had been passed on by Edgar, the recently fired stage hand who seemed to be the Opera's chief storyteller. It was through these girls that Tris learned about the Phantom being a large frightening black-caped figure that wore a mask and committed numerous acts of foul play.

While she had a somewhat wild imagination, Tris attempted to not let her gothic romantic sensibilities run ramped, and think realistically. After all, the man in charge of these fabrications was a drunkard, how dependent of a source could he be? However, it was harder for her to think this way after her father and brother told her the wild rumor which other members of the orchestra were whispering; that Monsieur Robert had been kidnapped by the infamous Phantom and most likely would never return…alive. Even the managers themselves seemed somewhat under the spell of this mysterious opera ghost.

Now Tris understood the eerie sensations the Opera House made her feel. Yet no Phantom, be he a myth or a man, compared to the other, and slightly more eerie, uneasiness she felt at the Opera.

Not a day went by when she did not arrive for work to find the Vicomte de Sevoy waiting near the room where the costumes were kept. He was always polite and charming, bowing to her, smiling at her, filling her ears with compliments about how lovely she looked, and inquiring after her health and that of her father's. In return, Tris would give a small curtsy, a small smile, thank the Vicomte for his kind words, and answer his questions with short replies. But she never fawned over him the way the ballet girls did when they saw him, and she never attempted to make the conversation more than what it was. After their ritual greeting, she would get straight to work and ignore his presence…if she could.

Yes, it seemed that everyone, save for Madame Wu and Edward, were taken by the Vicomte's charm and handsome smile. The managers fell over themselves to please him, Jeanine constantly flirted with the man, and the girls of the ballet were in a constant state of giggles whenever he was present. He had even managed to charm her dearly beloved father.

One evening, Andrew asked her about the Vicomte.

"He's a very handsome man, polite, charming, quite the gentleman. And he does seem to be taken with you, my dear," he said with a smile.

"Father, he is simply being polite, I'm sure, tis nothing more," she grumbled over her needlework.

Yet Andrew would not hear it. The Vicomte was wealthy and had prestige, something that he would want for his daughter, yet he did not see it as so inconceivable for a wealthy man to fall in love with a girl of little fortune, like her. Tris knew her father meant well, but he made her feel like a charity project.

Truth be told, Tris never found herself looking forward to seeing the Vicomte day in and day out. For the first two mornings, he simply greeted her as a gentleman would greet a lady on the street. Afterwards, he would eventually disappear and she would not see him again till the next day. But on the third occasion, he would not leave so easily. He would come and look over her shoulder at the work she was doing, complimenting her on her skills, filling her ears with more false flattery. Such praise made Tris feel uneasy, for it was not praise being purely given, but praise that seemed to hold a ransom, as if now she owed him a compliment…or more, in return.

He would stay and loom over her till she made up an excuse that she had to go and find Jeanine to see what she thought. That would normally get him to leave, and Tris would then retreat somewhere private to get her work done. However, one day he would not leave; he remained and continued to loom, speaking pleasantly to her, but Tris found herself growing more and more uneasy. She could feel his eyes upon her, and it made her feel violated, as if he were stripping away her gown and undergarments and exposing her with his eyes alone. She shivered, and he took this to mean she was cold. She jumped when she felt him wrapping his coat about her shoulders, and his fingers lingered somewhat too long.

Her fingers were being clumsy, tripping over themselves while she attempted to sew, due to the nervousness and discomfort she felt in this man's presence. And her theory was correct that the man was filling her with false compliments when he continued to flatter her after a very obvious stitching error.

She was working on a very elegant gown, made entirely out of white lace, when his presence alarmed her and she accidentally pricked her finger. She gasped when the blood hit the fine fabric, knowing she would never hear the end of it from Jeanine once the stain was discovered. It was a great pity, as she too loved this gown above all the other costumes. The Vicomte, confusing her distress for the gown with her distress over her pricked finger, cried out her name, before grasping her tiny hand in his.

"My dear, you've hurt yourself!"

"It's nothing," Tris insisted, plastering a polite smile on her face, while at the same time attempting to wriggle her hand free from his iron grip.

"Nonsense, it could become infected! Come, let me help you."

"Monsieur, that is not necessarily, I-"

"I will not hear it, mademoiselle, come…I insist, I have just the thing that will help…" he was literally dragging her from her seat and out of the room. Tris continued to try and free herself, but it seemed to be no use, the man was quite strong and it hurt the way he gripped her hand.

"Ah, here we are," he said with a smile, leading her to a lounge just beyond the stairway that led to the private boxes which overlooked the stage.

Tris had hoped that he would at last release her, but instead he more or less pushed her down onto a chaise longue, while his other hand reached for a bottle of wine which emerged from a small sack next to it. He smiled and opened the wine before dabbing a small amount onto a handkerchief and using it to dab her finger.

"Sir, that is not necessarily," Tris protested. "As you can see, the blood has stopped and the wound is already closing-"

"Nonsense, one can never be too careful," he said in a patronizing tone, as if she were a small child who didn't know any better.

"There, doesn't that feel better?" he asked, his fingers still gripping hers rather possessively, while he warmly smiled at her. Despite that warmth, Tris felt anything but better.

"Indeed monsieur, you are right, this has done me some good," she quickly reasoned, offering a small polite smile before quickly rising to her feet. "Thank you very much, now if you will excuse me-"

"Now just wait a moment," he said with a chuckle, while his hand reached out and grasped her wrist, before pulling her back down beside him.

"Not so fast my dear. Why the hurry?" he asked, before lounging back.

Tris gave a small smile, but anyone could tell it was forced. "Tomorrow is the opening gala and I still have a great deal of work, it must get done-"

Tobias waved her worry off with his hand, like a man waving away a pesky fly.

"All in good time mademoiselle, all in good time, but first…let us celebrate," he said with a smile, before reaching into that small sack the wine had emerged from, and pulled out two glasses.

He had planned this. Why else would a gentleman of his leisure have brought wine and two glasses and then secretly hide them in…most likely his own private lounge? She had to keep a cool head despite all this.

"I do not understand what we have to celebrate, monsieur," she said curtly.

"Please, you may call me Tobias," he said while pouring the wine, as if he were granting her a large favor. "And we have a great many things to celebrate! Why, the opening gala, your triumphs in costuming-"

"Monsieur-"

"Tobias."

"MONSIEUR," she said with a little more force than she had planned, but knew it was necessary to get this man to understand. "Thank you, but no thank you…there will be no cause to celebrate anything if I do not get my work done." With that, she rose quickly to her feet and began to exit the lounge.

"I beg your pardon Tris- May I call you Tris? I thought you to be above such rude behavior."

She paused, his words intentionally made to prick her. She slowly turned her head, one eyebrow lifted. "Excuse me?"

He was grinning. "After all that I have done, you leave like this…I must say, it simply seems…ungrateful, if you ask me."

She couldn't believe she was hearing this. "Ungrateful?"

He nodded his head, lounging further back onto the chaise longue, his arms stretching out along its rim. There was this smirk on his face that Tris wanted to punch off. How dare he say such things to her! And how dare he presume that he could address her by her nickname! They were not intimate friends or equals; how dare he use the power of his title to assume authority over her! Hot anger was boiling in her veins; his conceitedness was, heaven forbid, worse than Jeanine's!

"Monsieur Eaton," she said through clipped lips. "I do not believe I have ever been so gravely insulted in all my life. I must return at once."

Tobias stared at her retreating figure, the smirk he had worn completely gone. Did that just happen? No woman had _ever_ refused him! He leapt to his feet and in a matter of strides had his hand on her shoulder and was turning her rapidly around to face him.

"Insulted?" he quickly calmed his tone and forced a smile. "I am sorry my dear, I was only trying to make a joke, I did not mean-"

Tris was able to shrug his hands off her shoulders and twirl away, stomping back to the costume room. Tobias stared at her, his mouth wide open. She had spurned him! She had turned away before he had even finished what he had to say…and spurned him! That ungrateful, spoiled, little-

"Monsieur Vicomte?"

Tobias groaned at the sight of the ballet mistress who appeared from nowhere. Tris was getting away before he even had the opportunity to turn the girl around and give her a good harsh shake for insulting him. He watched as she walked further and further away, vowing then and now that he would have the girl, one way or another, but he _would_ have her.

"Monsieur?"

He forced a smile and focused his attention on the matron standing before him. "Madame Wu…how wonderful to see you again."

The woman did not smile at him, only icily handed him a note. "This arrived for you, monsieur…I suggest you read it at once."

With that, the woman turned away and stalked back to the shadows from which she came. Although Tris was a good distance ahead of the Vicomte, she overheard Tori's words about the note. She recalled how Christina had told her that the Phantom only communicated through notes, and while she was still trying to convince herself that the whole notion of the Phantom of the Opera was ridiculous, she found herself pausing after she turned a corner.

She overheard the Vicomte mumble some of the words, before cursing and crumbling the note in his hand. He threw it on the ground and stomped off in a different direction. Tris waited till the sounds of his footsteps were far off before emerging from her hiding place. She quickly dashed to where he had been standing and picked the crumbled note up off the ground. She smoothed the paper out as best she could, and began to read.

 _To Tobias Eaton, the Vicomte de Sevoy,_

 _Monsieur, I do advise you not to harass the people of my theater. As your interests in opera are extremely limited, I suggest you leave all matters of staff to me…and keep what little understanding you have of the opera business to strictly fucking the prima donna-_

Tris gasped at the words and found herself blushing deeply. Was…was it true? She recalled how Jeanine always seemed to throw herself at him…and the mysterious engagements the two of them had while in her dressing room…

She shook her head, not truly wanting to dwell on such things, and continued to read.

 _-and prancing about like a plumed peacock. Good day. I remain, —O.G._

Tris stared at the initials on the letter for a long time. O.G.–opera ghost. Were the stories true? Was it possible that the Phantom wasn't a myth? But ghosts couldn't write notes…at least none of the ghosts in Tris' novels and her mother's stories could. But maybe he truly was a man…a mad man, living somewhere within this theater, watching all that went on, watching…watching her.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and slowly rose to her feet. Earlier, when she believed the stories to be simply stories, she found the idea slightly romantic, while eerie as well. Yet now Tris felt a cold shiver run down her body, and she found herself moving very quickly back to where she had left her work.

"Wait…" she paused. "Madame Wu was the one who delivered the note…she must have written it!"

Yes! It made sense; Christine could tell Madame Wu had a cold dislike for the Vicomte. She must have written the letter, and then initialed it as such to frighten him-or at least upset him-either way it got him to leave. That was what it was, a letter in the guise of the Phantom's threat. She felt calmer at the thought, yet there was a tiny piece of her that also regretted the reality of it; while the stories she had heard about the Phantom sounded frightening, the idea of a mysterious shadow-clad knight coming to her rescue was very romantic.

"You really must control your sensibilities, Tris!" she scolded herself before hurrying back to the costume room.

* * *

Eric smiled from his hidden rooftop view as he watched an angry Tobias exit the building. The Vicomte slammed his hat on top of his shimmering dark head and stalked toward his carriage. The driver leapt to his feet and opened the door, grimacing when he saw the nobleman's expression.

"H-h-h-how did it go?" he softly asked as he held the door open for his master.

Tobias paused and slowly, like a snake stalking its prey, turned his head towards the driver. The man gulped and began to tremble. Tobias leaned in, his face mere inches from the driver's.

"I will have that girl…and I will see her writhing and squirming beneath me, filling my ears with the sound of my name!" Tobias climbed into the carriage, and slammed the door shut behind him, catching the driver's fingers, who was yowling in pain.

"Stop your sniveling and get us out of here!" the Vicomte ordered, settling back into his carriage and glaring at the Opera House that stood before him.

"Make no mistake about it," he muttered to himself. "I will have her."

Eric watched with amusement as the carriage pulled away, the driver still whimpering in pain. He couldn't help but laugh at the whole situation. The sight of the handsome Vicomte de Sevoy being snubbed by a pretty girl was extremely comical to Eric. He leaned against the stone gargoyle he was hiding behind and laughed for a good long time, not caring if anyone heard him; it would only convince others further of the legends of the infamous Opera Ghost.

Indeed, the Opera hadn't been this entertaining since…well, since before Jeanine first placed her overgrown foot on the stage. The costume girl was truly fascinating; she was so unlike the others. Despite the Vicomte's compliments and good looks, she saw past the whole façade and would have none of his bullying. She was intelligent and courageous, outwitting the Vicomte and standing up to Jeanine; indeed, he liked this girl very much.

His smile faded at that thought. True, the girl was different compared to the squealing trollops of the ballet, but she was still a pretty face that would scream at the sight of him should he reveal himself. His lips twisted in disgust as he thought about how often he would come to see her while she worked. He supposed the whole ordeal began when the Vicomte wouldn't leave her alone. He found himself pitying the girl, something he rarely did, and today, when he realized that the son of a bitch was interfering with the young lady's concentration to the point where she was causing injury to herself, he had to intervene.

Eric felt a grin return to his lips as he recalled the Vicomte's displeasure at the note he ordered Tori to deliver. The Vicomte de Sevoy did not believe in the Phantom, he was far too "rational" for such things. However, Eric knew how greatly upsetting it was for the man to receive such reminders of the Phantom's existence. His grin grew wider as he thought that one day soon, Raoul would not be able to deny his very real presence.

The bells of Notre Dame sounded the hour, reminding Eric of the vast amount of work that still needed to be done before the opening gala tomorrow. "Faust" would be the first opera of the season; thank God the managers followed some of his instructions. Indeed, there were still a great many things to be done. If only he could find a soprano to replace the harpy.

* * *

That night, Tris barely slept a wink. Her dreams were plagued with the same dark figure, cloaked in shadows, calling out her name in a haunting voice, while sweet chilling music played in the distance. She could not see his face as always, yet she went to him, his voice beckoning to her like a siren's. She tried to touch him, but he would move away. However, she felt his hands upon her; they were large, rough, a workman's hands, yet they were also gentle, touching her as if she were a finely tuned instrument waiting to be played for the first time.

Every dream was the same: haunting, chilling, erotic. And when she awoke, she was covered in sweat and her body was throbbing for the touch of her ghost. These thoughts and feelings frightened her, for she had a funny feeling she knew very well who the man was in her dreams, but didn't want to admit it out loud in fear she would sound utterly absurd.

The sun came all too early. Tris groaned when Caleb came to rouse her out of bed. "Come, we have much to do today…for tonight is the opening gala of the opera season!"

With much reluctance, Tris forced herself out of bed and hurried off with her father and brother to the busy Opera House. The place was a scene of chaos. While the gala would not begin till seven, there was a frantic state to get everything in order. The managers were running here and there, trying to please Jeanine and be sure everything was prepared on stage. Tori worked meticulously with the ballet, telling the girls that only perfection would satisfy her. The orchestra rehearsed the entire opera, complete with chorus and one star. Edward sang, but Jeanine believed herself to be well beyond ready, and chose to spend the day pampering herself. Meanwhile, Tris carefully added the final touches to Jeanine's costumes and gently laid them out for the over-confident star to change into.

Throughout the day, Tris kept hearing talk about mysterious notes. Dancers and stage hands gossiped about the letters that were mysteriously arriving by the hour to the managers, demanding perfection for the evening. Tris couldn't help but grin when she heard two ballet girls giggling that one letter demanded for Jeanine to have an understudy to perform instead.

Yet Tris found herself even more confused than before. She spent so much energy the previous day trying to convince herself that the letter Madame Wu had delivered to the Vicomte de Sevoy was penned by the cold ballet mistress herself. However, there was that small annoying voice in the back of her head that kept telling her it was him, the mysterious Phantom. Now, with talk over all these notes, she found that voice growing louder and louder.

The day went by in a whirl. Before anyone knew it, night had fallen over the Opera House, and slowly, dressed in their elegant silks, linens, and furs, the crème de la crème of Paris society arrived in dazzling carriages. Tris managed to sneak away for a few minutes and watch from a balcony overlooking the grand foyer, the arrival of the toast of society. Her eyes quickly scanned the crowded scene before her and saw no sign of the handsome Vicomte. She thought it odd that a man who patronized the Opera as well as he, would not come to a performance, especially the opening opera of the season. However, she remembered how upset he appeared to be after reading the infamous note. Perhaps it was her words; perhaps she was able to sting him with the truth and he was unable to remove her stinger. She couldn't help but grin a little at that thought.

Meanwhile, Caleb was back stage tuning the piano to the right key, trying to desperately calm his nerves. This was his first timw performing in front of a full audience inside a real packed theater, and at last his opportunity had come. He needed to calm down; his fingers were shaking so violently he was afraid he wouldn't be able to properly play! What he truly needed was some fresh air, or at the very least, a brief walk away from the auditorium. While patrons were not yet being seated, he could hear them in the foyer and in their private lounges, clinking glasses of champagne and laughing gaily amongst themselves. Yes, he needed to walk away and mentally prepare himself for this wonderful, yet slightly terrifying opportunity.

"I ain't goin' down there!" muttered a gruff looking stage hand. Caleb turned his head to see a group of strong unshaven stage hands argue over who needed to fetch a prop for the opera.

"Well I ain't doin it!" another said just as fiercely. "Edgar always warned us that if you went down there without permission, you would never return alive! Remember Matthew? Has anyone seen him since he disappeared below stage a year ago?"

"Well someone has to go down there!" another added. "Max says they need that piece, that it's vital for the opera-"

"Hang Max and the whole lot of them! They don't understand the things we risk and put up with here. He wants it so bad? Let him get it!"

Caleb cleared his throat, and the small group of men slowly turned towards him. Their eyes went wide at the sight of the young man man who was asking for their attention.

"I beg your pardon gentlemen, but…I do not understand why there is this fear of simply going below stage to retrieve a simple prop?"

The men looked at one another, then back at the old man, then at one another again, as if to understand they heard him right.

"Don't understand?" one of them asked. "Don't you know about…about…you know, the ghost?"

Caleb made a sound with his lips that signified disbelief. "Oh come on, I would not think that men like you would believe in such ghost stories?"

"They be true stories!" one of the stage hands argued most gruffly. "I've seen him! He lurks in the shadows, and I was lucky to get away with me life! He had his Punjab lasso with him, and he was going to put it around my neck, when I-"

"When did this happen to you?" one of the men asked looking extremely skeptical.

The other who had been telling story became flustered at the question. "W-why…surely you remember, that day…a few months ago, when I didn't come to work? I was sure I told you…"

"I remember that day you didn't show up for work, because you were as drunk as a sewer rat! That's one of Joseph's stories about the Phantom, you lying-"

"GENTLEMEN!"

All the stage hands turned to look at the young man again body. Caleb straightened his shoulders, knowing that anyone of these men could squash him like a bug if they wished. Yet he could not believe that such childish stories had this gruff looking lot shaking in their boots. "If none of you are willing to fetch whatever prop this is–what is the prop?"

"A spinning wheel," one of them muttered. "It's been in storage for years, but apparently Jeanines character needs it."

Caleb nodded his head.

"Very well, since none of you will venture below stage to retrieve this spinning wheel…" he sighed heavily, as he did when he was annoyed and had to handle Tris' fears when she was a small child and their parents were nowhere to be found, "then I will go and fetch it."

The stage hands stared blankly at Caleb, as if they weren't quite sure if they heard him correctly. Then, all at once, the whole lot burst into hysterical laughter.

"Y-y-you!" one of them said between chuckles. "You…are going to go below stage…into the Phantom's domain?" They all burst into laughter again.

Caleb grunted, straightening his shoulders even more and glaring at the buffoons before him.

"Yes!" he said with determination, lifting his chin proudly. "I will! I, a pianist, will do the job of a stage hand, the job of men who are too afraid of the dark!"

They all kept laughing. "You w-w-would be afraid too, if you k-k-knew w-w-what was down t-there!"

Caleb shook his head and turned on his heel.

"Which way do I go?" he asked, looking for a door that would lead him away. The men's laughter rose to new levels at this question.

Caleb despised being laughed at, especially by people who looked at him and thought him inferior. So naturally, when these men continued to laugh at him over and over again, he felt his pride rising along with his stubbornness, and knew that he had to fetch this silly spinning wheel to prove that he was not afraid of any figment. So he set off, spying a door that he was sure led below stage, marched over to it, and turned one last time to look at his laughing companions. It was slowly beginning to die down, as they looked at him before he descended the darkened steps beyond the door.

"I'll return soon with your precious prop," Caleb snapped, before taking a deep breath and stepping through the dark passageway.

No one was laughing now. For deep within their hearts, the stage hands knew, especially after they exchanged worried glances amongst themselves, that the pianist had descended to his death.

* * *

 **Welp! This can't lead to anything good! I wonder what will happen;)**


	6. V: Darkness

**Thank you to everyone for the kind and awesome feedback for the story! This may or may not be the last chapter that I can post before finals begin this week, but after that I will be back to writing and you all shall be expecting ALOT of Eris!**

* * *

"Stay away from the underground lake I implore,  
The Siren will see you are heard of no more."  
― E.A. Bucchianeri

He was gone.

The opera would be beginning soon.

"I should have brought a light," Andrew muttered, his hands reaching out to touch…anything really.

He cursed under his breath, wondering where on heaven and earth did Caleb run off to. The performance was about to begin, and the managers were frantic when they learned that their pianist was nowhere to be found. When Andrew and the managers were confronted by a couple of stagehands about his son's whereabouts, they were told that he gone off to find Jeanine's spinning wheel prop that the stagehands were too afraid to go fetch because it was within the Phantom of the Opera's domain. Andrew had scoffed at their idiocy and for even allowing Caleb to go off on his own and without when he was needed in just a few several short minutes.

And so, Andrew Prior found himself going down below stage to find his son and the wheel, and hopefully won't be kicked out of the Opera House for this delay. Darker than the velvet black curtains that hid the back stage world. It was abnormally cold beneath the stage, and Andrew cursed himself for not bringing a lantern to light his way through the dark. And it was quiet, but it was a quiet that Andrew did not appreciate. It was a disturbing and eerie silent that if he were to drop a single pin it would be the only thing to make a sound. He could hear himself breathing and could make puffs of his cold breath seeping out from his breathing.

"So this is what it's like to be blind…" he whispered to himself, not liking it one bit. He continued a few more steps before sighing and stopping himself. He cursed himself and cursed Caleb's foolishness and pride for bringing them down to this dark netherworld.. The boy was quite intelligent, but he could make some of the harebrained and absurd decisions. This was foolish, damn foolish, and his son had a job to do as a pianist. He was going to make sure that once he finds Caleb he wouldn't let the boy hear the end of it-

"Argh!" Andrew staggered back slightly after hitting something that felt like a body. When he opened his eyes, he could barely make out a shape in the shadows coming towards him had it not been Caleb's voice reaching out to him.

"Father what're you doing down here?" Caleb exclaimed.

"What am I doing here? What are you doing down here?" Andrew hissed, trying to keep his temper and frustration at bay. "You're needed upstage and you're down here looking for that harpy's prop?!"

Caleb opened his mouth to explain, but Andrew didn't want to hear any of it and waved him off. "Never mind that. Now let's go- we don't have much time for you to addle and waste time. Beatrice will never let us hear the end of this if she finds out. Best turn around and head back-"

"Ow!" Andrew stumbled backwards after hitting a hard surface.

"Are you alright?!" Caleb called out, running to his father's side. Did he just walk into a wall? But…how could that be? They had just come from that direction, all his father had done was turn around…

"I'm fine. Strange…" Andrew muttered, rubbing his forehead and attempting to side step the wall or hard object he had hit. The problem was…there was nowhere to side step.

"How?" He kept trying to go around the wall, but it was as if the wall just kept on going!

"What's going on?" Caleb asked, his voice rising with panic as he attempted to move again, but kept coming in contact with a hard unseen barrier. Caleb and Andrew turned a different direction, hoping somehow they could find their way back…but it too was blocked off.

"What the devil…?" Andrew was completely stunned. He knew there wasn't a wall there before, but somehow…it had appeared! It was like…they were slowly being boxed in…

"HELLO?" he cried. "CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?"

Silence.

"HELLO? I NEED HELP! MY SON AND I TRAPPED DOWN HERE-"

Footsteps. He heard footsteps slowly approaching.

"Oh thank God," he muttered, his hand patting his chest gently to ease his heart. "Hello? I'm afraid I'm stuck, can you-"

The footsteps paused. Andrew and Caleb listened closely, but not a sound was being made.

"Hello?" Faintly at first, but growing ever so slowly, was the sound of heavy breathing. Andrew swallowed a rather large lump in his throat, his hand trembling as it patted his chest. "H-h-hello?"

The breathing continued, and it was different now. It was as if there were several people breathing. And it seemed to be coming from all around the two men. Andrew and Caleb attempted to remain calm, but found it extremely difficult.

"N-n-now s-s-see here…" Caleb said while mustering up some courage. "If you're n-n-not going to help us…t-t-then you best leave…"

There was a long silence…until a voice, low, gruff, and deep, muttered, "You shouldn't be down here…"

The Prior men gasped and found themselves backing up against the mysterious wall. "W-w-who are you?" he demanded.

"You're a trespasser," the gruff voice accused. "We don't like trespassers…"

Andrew clutched his heart. "W-w-w-we?"

"Leave him alone, Peter!"

"Stay out of this Uriah! You know the Master's rules about trespassers! Or do you want to return to the carnival?"

The other voice began wailing in fear. Andrew and Caleb couldn't see a thing, but he was flattening himself as much as he could against the wall.

"There was no need for that, jackass," a new voice warned. This voice was also gruff, yet not nearly as frightening as the last. The new voice then began to speak tenderly to the wailing figure.

"Don't lecture me, Will! I'll speak to him as I please! Besides, he's always like this whenever someone-"

"Fuck off, Peter!" A distinct rough female voice snarked.

The Prior male duo heard a scoffing sound, and assumed it came from the voice named "Peter". "He should know better! And if he thinks I'm frightening, wait till the Master discovers he allowed a trespasser to go-"

The wailing grew ever louder. Through the wailing, Andrew and Caleb could hear both comforting, arguing, and swearing. They felt along the wall, hoping to find something that would set them free from this dark frightening prison, but it was all in vain.

"All of you, stop this at once!" A new voice emerged, calm, and another feminine tone.

"Marlene-"

"No Peter, you listen to me…" she icily snapped. "I'm tired of this whole mess. What are these men's crime?"

There was a gasping sound, almost as if someone was shocked by the mere question. "What has he done? He's trespassing! You know the Master's rules!"

Before Caleb knew what was happening, he heard his father speaking to the darkness. "We…didn't mean to trespass. I swear, I came down to find my son who was trying to find a prop for tonight's opera. A spinning wheel…please, we didn't mean to offend."

There was a pause, before the soft woman's voice spoke again.

"Put on your shrouds," she ordered.

"WHAT?" Peter and the rough feminine voice shouted.

"Put…on…your…shrouds!" she hissed, her words clipped and even. There was a shuffling sound, as if someone were moving quickly. The sound was interrupted by Peter's protest.

"Am I the only one who cares about what happens to us? Am I the only one who share's the master's feelings on this matter? Have you all so easily forgotten what the carnival was like?"

The wailing began to start again, but the harsh woman's voice quickly silenced both. "Go then Peter, go and be gone. Marlene and Will will take responsibility."

The Prior men listened as a pair of footsteps vanished somewhere in the darkness, and the wailing came to a series of sniffles. Without warning, a light flickered, and an oil lamp appeared, illuminating the small space.

The light hurt their eyes, and Andrew and Caleb peered through the shadows, attempting to see who held the light. They gasped when they saw three shrouded creatures before him, one large and bent over, the other small and delicate with burn marks and stitches all over her hands and body, and the other appeared to be both a man and woman combined. "Come messieurs, we will show you what you are looking for…and a different way out."

Andrew and Caleb was almost too shocked by what had happened and was taking place before him. The small shrouded figure gestured for them to follow. "You can't go back that way messieurs, believe me. And if you wish to escape, you had best follow Will and me."

"I…I…" Andrew was stumbling over his words, trying to find his voice but to no avail, wildly looking back and forth between Caleb and the shrouded figures. Who were these people? What was going on? And…who was this mysterious "master" they kept referring to?

"Marlene, maybe we should just let them find their own way out-"

"And let them become lost and let the Master find them?" The shrouded figure spoke tersely to the other feminine voice behind her. The smaller shrouded figure gave an exasperated sigh, then came forward and grasped his hand tightly.

"Messieurs, you must follow us." The words were clipped and lisped. "My name is Marlene, and we shall lead you out of here."

Caleb and Andrew didn't say anything, but simply nodded their heads and allowed the stitched up burn woman to pull them by the hand. The much larger bent over figure grunted, and began to follow from behind. Caleb began trembling and Andrew swallowed the growing lump in his throat, both unsure what to think or believe, and wondering if they truly safe.

As if reading his thoughts, the small woman said, "Have no fear monsieur, Uriah is quite harmless."

The bent over figure who was following started to laugh at the words, but it was like a child's laugh, one full of merriment and excitement. "Do you know gypsies?"

The Prior men were thrown back by the question that Uriah had asked.

"W-w-what?" Caleb asked, along with his father still being dragged by woman, but attempting to turn and face the bent over man.

"Gypsies! I…I know a story…with a beautiful gypsy girl!" he said happily.

The he-she shrouded figure sighed. "Ever since Will told Uriah the story about the hunchback and the gypsy girl, he dreams of meeting gypsies."

Caleb nodded his head, but looked at his father uncertainly. They were at a loss for words. It was as if…as if these people led normal lives and discussed normal things…yet lived below the Opera House!

Their thoughts were interrupted by the sound of something scraping along the hard earthen floor.

"W-w-w-what was that?" Andrew asked, trying to calm his voice.

"Will," Marlene said simply.

It was so matter of fact that Andrew felt foolish for asking. "W-w-why is he making that sound?"

Uriah was quick to answer. "Will has a metal leg! He-"

"Uriah!" Marlene barked. Uriah instantly turned quiet. They continued on, although Andrew and Caleb found themselves in deeper confusion with horrific images flying through their minds. A man with a metal leg? Did that mean this man was- no that was absurd. Automatons and people with metal gears as limb replacement had become a new anomaly of an idea after the American Civil War ended, but it was rather a still taboo thought that was not accepted in most social circles. And these two in shrouds? What sort of place was this!

"Here we are!" Marlene announced, after what seemed like a short eternity through twisting tunnels and dark caverns. The shuffling sound that the woman had identified as "Will" moved quickly overhead.

"You would never have found the spinning wheel without our help I'm afraid," the woman announced. "I've been using it to make clothes, and I often forget that I must share the props with the actual Opera House."

Caleb gasped when he saw the spinning wheel being lowered by a rope from overhead.

"Ah! Thank you Lynn!" the woman said brightly. "I'm not very good at climbing anymore, but she's wonderful."

The Prior duo simply nodded their heads, the lump in either throat never allowing speech to come through.

"Uriah, I want you to hold this, and mind the spindle," Marlene instructed, handing the large creature the prop Caleb and later Andrew had come to find.

"Now monsieur, we shall find you a way out-"

A great gust of cold wind blew through the tunnel, knocking the oil lamp Marlene had been holding out of her hands, the flame disappearing into the shadows. Darkness enveloped the cavern, and Uriah gave a cry of anguish, before dropping the spinning wheel and rushing past Andrew and Caleb, his large body causing the older man to lose his balance and fall to the ground. Fear suddenly gripped Caleb, and somehow he found himself surging through the group of… _freaks_ and the menacing figure that just arrived, blindly running headfirst into a way out or nowhere. All he knew that he had to escape and dared not to turn back.

"Caleb! Caleb come back!" Andrew called out to the already vanishing retreating form of his son that didn't dare to turn around and help him. "Caleb!"

"Master!" Marlene cried. "Please, allow us to explain, they were simply coming to retrieve-"

Her words were cut short by a roar of rage. "TRESPASSERS!"

Andrew stopped calling after Caleb and gasped at the sound. He had never heard anything like it! It…it barely sounded human!

"You did this Peter!" accused the voices of Will and Lynn, who were speaking overhead.

Peter's voice filled the cavern, responding to Will and Lynn's accusation. "He would have learned sooner or later! And you know the rules! See, master? I was against it all along, I warned them, I-"

"SILENCE!"

Both Peter, Will, and Lynn shrank away, and the only sounds Andrew could hear were heavy footsteps, and his own heartbeat, ringing loudly in his ears.

He was trembling, clutching his chest again, attempting to back away, yet still the footsteps approached closer, louder, each sound more ominous than the last. He wanted to plead for his life, beg forgiveness, anything that would wake him from this nightmare!

There was a menacing pause, and then, with hot breath hitting his face, Andrew heard the most frightening voice that had ever filled his ears.

"Who are you..." the voice was a hiss. A hiss that would shame a snake and make the Devil plea for his life. "…and what are you doing here?"

"I…I…I j-j-just w-w-w-wanted…"

"Do you know what I do with trespassers?" the voice asked, in a menacing tone.

"I…I d-d-didn't mean to t-t-t-trespass! I…I j-j-just w-w-wanted…p-please!"

"Master!" Marlene's voice interceded. "He did not know the rules, he and his son are new, I've never seen-"

"I KNOW WHO HE IS!" the dark voice snapped. "And I know that he knows my rules."

Andrew had no idea who this person was…but a horrifying feeling was filling him and causing his whole body to convulse and tremble with the cold knowledge. "P-p-please…"

"You know the rules…" the voice hissed. "And yet you disobeyed. You just wanted to come and see the Phantom…didn't you?"

The sound of sinister glee rose with each word. Andrew attempted to shake his head, but he was scared stiff. A sudden flicker of light illuminated the cavern floor.

"Well…I wouldn't want to disappoint…" The light rose off the floor, higher and higher, until Andrew's eyes widened with horror at the sight illuminated before him.

Despite the noise of the crowded foyer and auditorium, those that worked back stage jumped at the sound of the man's screams and at the sight of Caleb Prior bursting out from beneath the stage, sweating and panting.

* * *

"I swear! I could KILL both of them!" David shouted in frustration.

Max paled at the words of his colleague, quickly signaling for David to lower his voice. "Quiet man! The last thing we need is for Jeanine…or the Vicomte for that matter, to learn that something is amiss!"

David threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "How could he do this to us? After allowing both him, his son, and his mouse of a daughter jobs in our theater! How could they do this to us?"

"Calm yourself David," Max attempted. David however was going to be anything but calm.

"What are we going to do? We need that concert piano! Jeanine sings with a piano solo during Act II! No one else knows that solo but the Prior boy!" David began pacing. "It's just like Robert! He and that no good father of his have disappeared! They've taken our money and they've left, without a word, without a reason, without-"

Max marched up to the man and slapped him hard across the face.

"Get a hold of yourself!" he hissed, before glancing to the side to see if anyone saw them. The two managers were back stage after being called by Fernando, the orchestra conductor. Fernando filled the mangers' ears with a litany of complaints, all centering around the fact that Caleb and Andrew were nowhere to be seen, no one could find them or knew where they were, and the opera had been delayed for ten minutes!

Jeanine was pacing angrily, wondering what the trouble was, and indeed, out in the auditorium, the patrons were beginning to grow restless. After learning the news, David and Max found themselves panicking, wondering what should be done-besides firing the Priors, once they were found. Tori had already been sent to fetch Tris Prior, who was hard at work with preparing a frustrated Jeanine.

"I'm sure the girl knows what's become of them," Max attempted to reassure his business partner. David was less convinced.

"And if not? Then what? We still need to start the opera! These people paid good money! We can't lose that money! This is the first performance of the season! We'll be ruined if-"

Max slapped David again.

"Shut up!" he hissed. The two suddenly realized they were being watched and turned to see a bewildered and somewhat pale Tris standing beside the ballet mistress.

"I was told you wanted to speak with me?" she asked, her voice had concern for she feared something was wrong.

Max cleared his throat and nodded his head, his eyes holding hers. "When did you last see your father and brother, mademoiselle?"

Tris' face paled.

"My father and Caleb?" her tone was high and full of worry. Tori placed a reassuring hand on the girl's shoulders to calm her. Tris looked back and forth between the two managers. "What's happened? Are they alright? What's wrong?"

"Mademoiselle, please remain calm," Max whispered, attempting to remain calm himself. "Monsieur Fernando has not seen your since earlier this evening, before any patrons were seated, and your father went to go find him. And…well, as you very well know, we need him to play that piano piece, and no can find them-"

"They're missing?" Tris practically shrieked. Max grasped her hands and placed a finger to her lips to silence her.

"Hush! We cannot have a scene! We-"

But it was too late. Jeanine, looking more exasperated than ever, waltzed over to the managers with Edward close behind.

"WELL?" she screeched. "What are we waiting for?"

"Madame, please, you must keep your voice down-"

"I WILL DO AS I PLEASE WHEN I PLEASE, AND I WILL SPEAK AS I PLEASE!" she barked. "Now tell me…what is going on?"

Mustering up as much calmness as he could, David stepped forward to explain. "It appears Monsieur Prior and his father are missing, and we are-"

"MISSING?" she shrieked. Wincing with pain from the sharpness of her voice, both the managers nodded their heads. Jeanine eyed them coldly, before turning on her heel. "Then fire him! And start the overture!"

"What?" Tris shouted, staring at Jeanine in horror. "You can't fire him! Something is wrong! He and my father would never miss a performance! We must find them! Please-"

Suddenly the managers' door burst open with Caleb running in, pale as a sheet, sweating, and panting for breath.

"Caleb!" Tris cried and gathered her brother in her arms. "Thank god you're alright! What happened to you? I've been worried sick about where you and father-" Tris immediately stopped and looked behind Caleb's shoulder. Andrew was not behind. Trying to steady her breathing, she looked at Caleb's ashen face.

"Caleb… where's father?" She whispered, too afraid to speak in a higher octave in fear her voice will break. Eyebrows furrowing in confusion, Caleb turned back around and saw that no one was behind him. He began trembling again and grew paler than he already was.

"I-I-I t-thought h-he was r-ight b-bbehind me," He stammered.

"For god sakes man! Man we don't have time for this!" David snapped. "Where is Prior!"

"No no no no no no no…" Caleb's voice was shaking. "T-t-the stories a-r-re t-true. The Phantom…."

"Oh God not you too!"

"Caleb talk to me!" Tris pleaded. "We don't have time for this! Please! You're scaring me! Where's father!"

"I… I went down below the stage to get Jeanine's prop, and he followed me," Caleb began. He hesitated, looking away, and Tris began to get a bad feeling, her stomach twisting uncomfortable. "We were ambushed by these monsters and freaks… and then- and then…."

"Caleb-"

"The stories are true, Beatrice- about the Phantom here. He-he ambushed us, but I ran- I ran and I didn't look back…. I could hear father screaming after me, but I thought he was right behind me. T-he-they and the Phantom took him…"

Tris stared at her brother, her shoulders slumping. She felt her world soundlessly go on without her. Jeanine looked like she was whining and barking off commands as usual, the managers mouthing something that appeared to be, "It's hopeless! He's done! We're done for!", and Caleb just looked at her, pleading with his eyes for her to say something. _The Phantom took him,_ she thought to herself. She didn't want to believe in something so absurd, but how else could she explain the disappearance of her father? She so desperately wanted Caleb to say it's not true and for her father to appear through the door, saying it was a hoax. But that wasn't something Andrew Prior was known for. This all couldn't be real…

Caleb attempted to wrap his arms around her, but Tris stepped away with a clear look of disgust and horror on her face. "How could you…"

"Beatrice…"

"This can't be real! Please this isn't true! We must find him!" Tris pleaded, whipping her head around to face the managers. "He…oh God, he could be hurt! Lying somewhere and no one can hear no!"

"Who gives a damn!" Jeanine spat, already having enough of all this 'foolishness'.

Silence filled the small space. Silence…and then the sound of Tris walking up to Jeanine and without warning, throwing her fist directly into the woman's eye.

"YOU DESPICABLE UNTALENTED HEARTLESS BITCH!" Tris shouted, her fists wailing at the screaming prima donna who was pleading for Edward to save her. Everyone was frozen in shock at the scene before them, and it took a blood curdling scream from Jeanine before anyone responded by pulling the angry costume girl off the sobbing soprano.

"Mademoiselle! Control yourself!" Max shouted. Caleb tried to reach and wrap his arms around Tris again, but she slapped him and gave a scathing glare.

"How could you! How could you leave him?!" She screamed. "I hate you! You're nothing but a coward!" Tori pulled Tris away from Caleb and wrapped her arms around the girl who was trembling and sobbing with anger and worry for her father. Caleb looked as though he was about to cry and wanted to protest, but kept silent. Deep down, her words rang with his body in shame and he knew they were true. Edward helped Jeanine up, cooing over her, to which she pushed him away.

"That little BITCH better be gone by the time the first act is finished!" she spat. "Ugh! My make-up is ruined! My hair!" she wailed as she stalked off. Max and David stared at the retreating figure of their beloved star, unsure what to say or do, but any thoughts on that matter were quickly gone when an usher appeared.

"Pardon me, but…the Vicomte is here and is growing impatient and says the opera should start, or he will demand…his money back," the man whispered in horror. Both managers paled at those words of doom.

"Take Monsieur Prior to Monsieur Fernando and tell him to start the overture RIGHT NOW!" David ordered. He pulled an unmoving Caleb to the door and pushed him and the usher out. Max turned to the sobbing costume girl who was still being held closely by the ballet mistress. He sighed and locked eyes with the older woman.

"Tori, if…you would please escort Mademoiselle Prior out," he whispered. Tori simply returned Max's words with a cold stare. The managers turned and left, leaving the two women behind.

"There, there, child, it will be alright…" the ballet mistress soothed.

Tris pushed away from the woman. "Alright? I…I just punched Jeanine! I've lost my job! My father is missing because of my brother! And…and no one is doing a goddamn thing to find him!"

Tori knew that no amount of reassuring words would help Tris. She sighed and found herself glaring into the shadows. _'Damn you, Eric,'_ Tori thought bitterly. She knew Eric was to blame for the man's disappearance, she only prayed that he showed some small amount of compassion and had let the man live. Yet she highly doubted it.

The notes of the overture rose into the air, and the lights dimmed and the sound of applause filled the auditorium as the curtains slowly opened. Tori took hold of Tris' shoulders and forced the girl to look at her.

"I will help you, but you must listen carefully to what I say," she whispered. "Right now, I have to help with the performance of this opera. If I don't, more disaster may occur. But as soon as it is over, I will…make inquiries…"

Tris' brow furrowed at the woman's words. Inquiries? What did she mean? Yet before she could open her mouth to ask, the ballet mistress continued. "You must trust me Tris, I will learn what has happened and find him, I promise you. In the meantime, it would be best if you went home."

"But-"

"Please, I know this must sound confusing, but you must trust me on this. You should go home before Jeanine has another fit."

Tris felt numb. Was this really happening? She nodded her head to the woman's words, who smiled warmly at her, with a dash of sympathy, before turning and leaving the costume girl alone in the shadows of the back stage. Jeanine's harpy-like voice filled the auditorium, and Tris found herself seething with anger. She had never met anyone in her whole life that she wished more ill will upon. And the louder Jeanine sang, the more the anger boiled within Tris. No, she would find her father, she would find him right now! And…she had an odd feeling…

The smell of tobacco filled her nostrils and she turned her head to see three stagehands chuckling amongst themselves. The odd feeling grew more and more…

"You!" she hissed, approaching them without a thought or care that they could snap her in two if she angered them enough. "You know something about my father, when did you last see him!"

They stared at her, amazed at her boldness to approach them with such a tone, and found themselves somewhat intimidated. "W-w-what?" one of them asked.

"Monsieur Prior! My father! He followed my brother for the spinning wheel! The pianist! Have you seen him at all?" she demanded. They glanced back and forth between themselves and looked back at her, their faces contorting with worry.

"What? Tell me!" she demanded, knowing they knew something.

One of them sighed and shook his head. "We tried to warn him, but he wouldn't listen. He was too stubborn to go after that damn boy."

Tris grabbed the man by his shoulders and shook him hard, despite her much smaller frame. The man found himself amazed by the woman's strength. "TELL ME!"

The man shook Tris' hands off him.

"He went below!" he grunted. "Down…down there…" he pointed to a door just a few feet away. "I'm sorry mademoiselle, but…he's gone."

"Gone?" Tris asked, her voice trembling, not wanting to hear what she knew they were going to tell her.

"No one is allowed down there without the Phantom's permission. Everyone knows that. We warned him, over and over…but he wouldn't listen."

Tris stared at the door while the men spoke. "I'm sorry mademoiselle, but…you'll never see your father again."

"NO!" Tris shouted, stalking over to the door and gripping the handle with both hands before pulling it open. "I'll find him and I'll bring him back," she swore.

The men stared at her. "Mademoiselle, you can't be serious? The Phantom! He'll…he'll kill you if you go down there-"

"TO HELL WITH THE PHANTOM!" Tris cried out angrily. "I don't care…I'm going to find my father."

She grabbed one of the lit oil lamps that was back stage and disappeared into the darkness, closing the door behind her.

The stage hands stared in shock at the closed door. The costume girl was surely doomed, just like her father. The Phantom never showed mercy, everyone knew that. The stage hands crossed themselves and began to pray for the soul of the brave woman who had just entered the mouth of hell.

* * *

 **DUUUUNNNNN! DUN DUN DUN DUUNNNNN! DUN DUN DUN DUNNNNNN!~ That was my lame impression to the beginning overture of Phantom of the Opera:P Well ladies and gentlemen, it looks like Tris is about go down and face the Phantom herself- I wonder what shall occur?;3**


	7. VI: Choices

**Hi! So I said that the last chapter would be the last one for a while, but I just couldn't let you guys wait on an ending like that- I thought this chapter would be a little sweeter and crueler- lol, I know I'm horrible! Thank you to everyone for the kind and awesome feedback for the story! This may or may not be the last chapter that I can post before finals begin this week, but after that I will be back to writing and you all shall be expecting ALOT of Eris!**

* * *

 _"If, in two minutes, mademoiselle, you have not turned the scorpion, I shall turn the grasshopper … and the grasshopper, I tell you, HOPS JOLLY HIGH!"_

 _-_ Gaston Leroux

The clang of the stage door closing behind her sounded like an iron gate that was locking her in. Tris stood silent for a moment, holding the oil lamp with a shaky hand and observing the never-ending darkness that stood before her. She was alone; no one chose to follow her for they were too afraid, and Tris could hear a tiny voice in her head telling her how foolish it was for her to go into the unknown all by herself.

But her father needed her. He was down there somewhere, she could feel it. He could be hurt, he could be trapped, he could be lost in the shadows. She had to find him, she had to save him, he was all she had left in the world. She said a silent prayer, took another deep breath, and ventured into the dark unknown.

* * *

"She's…she's here!" Uriah cried out happily. Despite his large size, he was jumping around like a joyful child at Christmas, grinning from side to side.

Marlene, who had fallen asleep near the spinning wheel that only a little while ago they had gone to fetch, awoke with a start to Uriah's jovial dancing.

"She's here, Marlene!" he cried, grasping the limp doll like woman up into his large thick arms. "She's come at last!"

Marlene squealed when she felt her feet lift off the ground.

"Uriah! Put me down at once!" she cried, preferring to be dropped than crushed to death by the exuberant hunchback. He blushed and then immediately placed the tiny woman back on the ground, but his grin never disappeared. Marlene straightened herself. "What on earth are you talking about?"

Uriah found himself dancing again. "The gypsy girl! I…I know it's her!"

Marlene sighed, regretting for allowing Will to tell Uriah that story in the first place, especially since she asked him to lie about the ending. "Uriah, that's only a story, there is no-"

"NO!" he shouted, his smile disappearing. "I saw her! She's here! She's wandering near the old prop room!"

Marlene stared up at him, her brow furrowed. She knew Uriah could get carried away with the stories Will read to him, but this time was different. She could tell by simply looking into his eyes that it was true, he had seen a girl, and that the girl he had seen…was here.

"Near the old prop room?" she asked, feeling her limp feet listlessly carry her away from the cavern they had been occupying. Uriah simply nodded his head before giggling again. Marlene was glad that he was so happy, but her blood ran cold at the thought of the innocent woman becoming another victim of Erik's booby traps…or of Erik's rage.

"Come Uriah," she whispered. "Take me to her."

* * *

In a further cavern, Lynn sat by candlelight reading a newspaper. Will was currently working on his metallic arm and leg, tightening any screw that needed to be tightened or greased. He had a book laid out before, reading a chapter of out Frankenstein. Peter was sitting a few feet away, sharpening a knife on an old piece of leather. Now and then he would glance at the other man, rolling his eyes as he watched Will lean close to the book before him after finishing tweaking his limbs.

"How many times have you read that bloody thing?" Peter asked irritably. Will made no comment.

"Waste of time," Peter grunted. Lynn casted a glare at Peter and scoffed.

Without lifting his head, Will muttered, "I have nothing to say to you, so continue sharpening your toy and leave me to read in peace."

Peter casted Will and Lynn an angry glare. "What's wrong with you two?"

"You mean besides the countless times you mock how much he reads and his body?" Lynn muttered, without looking up from her paper. "How about…you running to the Master to snitch on the rest of us?"

Peter rolled his eyes and rose to his feet.

"The man was a trespasser! Does that not mean anything to you?" he threw his arms up in frustration. "Tell me something Lynn and Will, did you like the carnival? Did you like performing for those fops and being called names? Because I know I didn't! And I am never going back there!"

Will sighed. "The man only wanted a spinning wheel-"

"And the second he came back to the surface, he would tell everyone about us down here and a mob would be after us in a second! Think what you two would like, but you're wrong! I for one share the Master's feelings, I for one will not go against the Master's orders! I-"

"Father?"

The word was soft and distant, but it rang out loud and clear for the trio who were silenced immediately upon hearing it.

"What the hell was that?" Peter asked, whirling his head around the cavern.

Silence, and then another call. "Father?" This time it sounded closer.

"Sounds like…a girl?" Lynn whispered, putting down her paper and rising from her seat.

"A GIRL!" Peter exclaimed, his eyes widening with horror. "Are we to have no peace? How are these people finding us!"

"Quiet!" Will ordered, before dragging his feet to the opening. Both he, Lynn, and Will moved to a crack in the cavern wall, peering out to see if the voice was coming from that direction.

Sure enough, after a few seconds, a small light appeared in the distance, and with it, another cry. "Father? Can you hear me? Are you there?"

"It is a girl…" Will whispered.

"I KNOW WHAT IT IS!" Peter exploded. "WHAT I WANT TO KNOW IS HOW DO WE GET RID OF IT!"

Will winced to Peter's cries, and then paled when he heard, "Father? Is that…you?"

"See what you've done!" Will and Lynn hissed. "She's heading this way!"

"No…I…I'm not going back there…I'm never going back there!" Peter mumbled, stepping back frantically and stumbling.

"Get a hold of yourself!" Lynn snapped.

But it was no use. Despite Will and Lynn's attempt to calm him, Peter rose to his feet and immediately took off down a dark passage wailing for the Master. Damn!

"Father?" Will and Lynn froze; the voice was nearly there! They quickly dispersed, leaving their book, newspaper, and tool shed.

Tris heard the sound of…feet? She wasn't sure, but she quickly followed the sound, especially as she heard the sound moving faster.

"Wait!" she cried out. "Please, I'm trying to find my father! Please! I-"

She entered the cavern and saw the small candle glowing as brightly as it could, lying next to an open copy of Frankenstein and a discarded newspaper. Someone was here. It could have been her father, but…why would he run from her? The shuffling sound echoed off a cavern wall, coming from a dark tunnel; Tris took off after it.

"Father! Please! Don't run away, I just want to find my father, Andrew Prior! Please! I-"

"Beatrice?"

Tris froze as her father's voice filled her ears. He was alive. He was here!

"Father!" she cried, whirling around the darkness, trying to find him. She lifted her lamp, which was quickly running out of oil, to try and spot him. His voice sounded so faint, she could hear his ragged breathing, which was interrupted by violent coughs. "Father, where are you? I can't see…"

"It…doesn't…matter!" he said through his coughs. "You must…get yourself out of here!"

She continued to look around, and finally, in a tiny corner of the stone floor, she saw a small iron grate, and her father's hands clinging to the bars.

"Father!" she cried, rushing over to the bars, falling to her knees, and immediately grasping a hold of the cold iron and attempting to force it open.

It was hopeless, the bars were too strong, and it was clear that the tiny door was locked. She looked down at her father, horrified to see him lying on his back in such a tiny space. His face was hidden by shadows, but his hands gripped the bars with all his strength. He was wet too, his body barely rising out of dark murky water that surrounded his prison. The space so was tiny, it was as if he were…buried.

"Beatrice-"

"Who's done this to you?" she asked angrily, placing the lamp down and seeking out a hairpin. She remembered from one of the gothic novels her mother had read to her about a woman who picked a lock with only a hairpin. She prayed that that part of the story was true.

"There's no time my dear, you must leave, now!"

"No! I'm not going to leave you down here like Caleb did to waste away in the earth!" she went to work with picking the lock, cursing the bitter cold for making her fingers clumsy.

"Beatrice, please, if you love me, you'll leave this place! He'll be here any second!"

"Who?" she asked, not stopping one second with the lock. It was the only way she could avoid allowing the fear to overtake her.

"The Phantom! He's real, Beatrice! He'll kill you for sure! He's-"

"…right behind you."

Tris froze. The voice was dark, lower than anything she had ever heard, and every hair on her skin stood on end at the deep growl that reverberated around the cavern walls. Before she could begin to turn her head, a strong hand grabbed her by the shoulder and whirled her around, so rapidly, that her oil lamp broke and she was encased in shadows.

"Who's there! What do you want with us?" She could hear movement, and felt a soft wind hit her face with each step.

"Who am I?" his voice was a deep sinister growl that sent freezing shivers down her spine. "Your father knows…"

"RUN BEATRICE! SAVE YOURSELF!" her father shouted.

Tris had never felt so frightened. She wanted to run, she wanted to flee for her life, but she couldn't abandon her father! She prayed for courage, prayed for resourcefulness, prayed for anything to have this…creature, show mercy upon both she and her father.

"Please let my father go…" she whispered. "He didn't mean any harm. It was all a mistake-"

"MISTAKE?" he shouted, causing the cavern walls to shake. "HE KNEW THE RULES! NO ONE IS ALLOWED DOWN HERE! NO ONE!"

The movement continued, and Tris bit her lip, forcing herself not to cry. She had to be brave!

"P-please…" she whispered. "My father…he'll catch his death if he stays in there…"

A dark menacing chuckle came from the Phantom's lips.

"Catch his death?" he chuckled some more. "My dear…I am death."

The chuckles were more than Tris could take. She found her own anger flaring up at the sound of the laughter, at the sound of someone mocking her concern for the life of another human being. She bolted to her feet and squared her shoulders. "You want to punish someone so badly for breaking your rules? Fine! TAKE ME!"

The Phantom's laughter ceased. There was a long pause of silence before Andrew cried in protest. "Beatrice! W-w-what are you saying? Don't do this!"

The Phantom looked at the woman before him. After years of living in darkness his eyes had adapted to the point of where he could see so clearly through shadow. Indeed, he had never seen the costume girl like this. She was small; the top of her head would come just below his collar. But she was no waif-like creature. She looked strong for someone so small, and his eyes began raking up and down her body. She wore a simple dull grey dress, which lacked lace and ruffles. She was stick thin, though he did however notice that there were some curves hidden within the frumpy dress. Her hair was blonde, cascading down her shoulders and had no curls or waves to it that was common for women around Paris. Her hair was straight and framed her narrow face and long neck, with a long, thin nose and rosy cheeks that lacked the over-zealous amount of make-up that Jeanine threw upon herself. Her eyes were wide and round, a grayish-blue, that right now held a fire within them. She wasn't exactly the textbook definition of beautiful and looked rather like a child trying to be a woman, but Eric couldn't pinpoint what was it that he found intriguing about her. Of course he knew she was spirited, he had witnessed that several times now since she came to his theater. Indeed…having her as his personal slave was not an idea he was against. He moved around her, knowing she could not see him, but enjoying how she looked for him whenever she felt the breeze billowing off his long overcoat.

"Do you know what you are asking?" he whispered darkly.

Tris lifted her chin. "Yes."

"Are you sure?" he asked, his fingers reaching out and with the touch that felt like a soft wind, brushing against her hair. "Because there's no going back. You do this, you can never return. You'll be mine…forever."

Tris felt a lump rise in her throat. Trapped for all eternity in this hell, with no sunlight, no love…nothing. But a protesting cough that escaped her father's lips resolved Tris' decision.

"You have my word," she said with a shaky voice. "I will stay and take his place."

"NO BEATRICE! NO!"

The Phantom breathed out a heavy sigh, amazed that he had been on tenterhooks while awaiting her decision.

"Then it's done," he growled, removing a key from his pocket and quickly unlocking the small prison door that contained her father.

Tris crumpled to the floor, gasping as the weight of what just took place overcame her. She had agreed to be this creature's prisoner, his…his slave, for…who knows what. She trembled at the thought and felt the bile rise in her throat.

"Tris! What have you done?" she felt her father's arms envelope her from behind, and she turned to cling to him. "I've lived my life, and you're still young with so much ahead of you! Please, don't do this, I-"

He was yanked out of her arms violently by the unseen Phantom before Tris had the opportunity to say anything.

"Wait!" she cried to the darkness, her hands seeking out her father, but finding nothing. "Please! Let me say goodbye!" But her pleas fell on death ears.

"PETER!" the Phantom bellowed. The man immediately appeared, and the Phantom pushed Andrew into his arms.

"Take him away," he growled.

"NO! Please! Spare my daughter! Take me back!" Andrew wailed.

Peter was still in shock. "Take him away? You mean…release him? Master, are you sure that's wise?"

One glare from the Phantom said everything Peter needed to know. He quickly dragged the screaming man away, leaving the Phantom alone with his silent captive.

Tris was numb. She lay in a crumpled heap on the cavern floor, her breathing slow and uneven. Did this just happen? Did not that morning her father rouse her out of bed, happy and excited for the opening gala that would be taking place? Was it not a week ago that they had come to Paris with such high hopes? She had lost her father; she had lost everything she had ever dreamed for. She was truly alone.

The Phantom looked at the woman who lay on the floor before him. She seemed so small and fragile compared to the other times he had seen her. The spirit he admired was gone. He had at least expected the girl to be lost in hysterics, sobbing endlessly or attacking him with what strength she had. But this was not what he expected, this mute shell of a woman. She simply lay there, lifeless, save for the odd sounds that her breathing made. Taking a closer look, he scrunitzed upon her blank face, furrowing his eyebrows together in concentration. He felt the wheels of his memory turning, trying to place her where he had seen her. His mind blank and foggy, but he could make out a shape of a child kneeling before him…. No, this couldn't be…

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he glared at her. Now what? Should he approach her? If he did, what then? The prison he had placed her father was an ancient torture chamber where the victim was boxed in a tiny space, while water slowly flooded into the area, bringing the agonizing reality that the person trapped would soon drown. He couldn't put her in there, although she was a trespasser and deserved death like all the others. But he had never killed a woman; frightened a few into insanity he was sure, but he had never killed one.

Clearly he hadn't thought this plan through, however, to his credit, it had landed upon him out of nowhere. He had to do something with her, he just couldn't leave her there with the opportunity to escape; she would wind up killing herself from one of his elaborate booby traps.

Women; he was beginning to understand why he never got involved with them; they were too much of a hassle to try and figure out what to do with!

"Marlene," he muttered. The doll like woman appeared at the sound of her name. "Take the girl…to the Southern chamber."

Marlene stared up at him. "But Master, you can't be serious…that's where the costume cages are kept-"

"Exactly," he simply said. "Place her in one of those until I decide what to do with her. Or at least till the opera is finished."

Marlene couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You're going back to the opera?"

The Phantom looked down at the woman, wondering why the shock in her voice. "It's opening night Marlene; I must see that everything is going as it should."

"BUT…THE GIRL!" she shouted. Tris still lay lifeless on the ground, not even flinching to the conversation taking place.

"Master…you cannot leave, not like this at least. We must…we must do something; she's only a child, look at her! She's just lost her father and freedom-"

"THEN SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE TRESPASSED!" he growled harshly. Marlene jumped and took a step back, not wishing to anger Eric more than he already was. That was one ill fate she did not wish on the poor girl. He groaned and ran a hand through his limp light brown hair.

"Do as I say…take her to the Southern cavern, lock her in one of the cages, and after the opera, I will be down to see her."

"Yes Master," she whispered. Satisfied, Eric turned to leave, but a soft small voice stopped him dead in his tracks.

"Wait. Before you go…" came the faint voice of the costume girl, "…I have but one favor to ask…" A death-like silence filled the cavern. "…let me look upon my captor…so that I may know the monster to which I gave my life away to."

Her words were bitter, filled with anger and hatred. It was expected, but Eric had no pity for the girl, it was her decision and she gave her word. It was too late for her. And because of this reason, he had no problem granting her meek request. Without a word, he lit a match and walked over to the far side of the cavern wall. Every cavern had a candleholder, and Eric proceeded to light it, his back to the costume girl.

As the light slowly illuminated the cavern, Tris peered through the shadows and began to make out a shape, a large black shape that was tall and broad. She realized that the blackness belonged to his cape that hung from his broad shoulders all the way to his ankles. Slowly, so slowly, he turned, revealing more of himself to her eyes. Black boots, black trousers…followed by a black vest and black dress coat. He wore a black overcoat that's tails swished around his ankles and he the hood over his face. A hint of jet could be seen, which indicated his shirt peeking out from the coat and vest. His arms, which looked like strong tree limbs, hung at his sides clad in black leather gloves. Her eyes went higher and higher, his face cloaked by the hood in the shadows. She squinted, thinking she could see something pale in the darkness of where his face would be.

"Come into the light…" she whispered.

Without any word, he slowly took the hood off of his head and lifted his head to where the candlelight was streaming. She saw cold stone grey eyes, glaring back into hers. His hair was light brown, which he had pulled back, but interestingly he had his head shaven on both sides, which was rather an uncommon style for the men in Paris. She saw one cheek, which looked like the cheek of any young man; smooth and yet rough, with a couple of piercings on his upper brow and bold black tattoos on his neck that look like a never-ending black maze. But it was the other half of his face that caused her eyes to widen and her heart to stop. The paleness she had seen earlier belonged to a mask; a smooth black mask with silver and charcoal grey linings that covered the right side of his face from the corner of his mouth all the way up to his forehead. She was frozen in terror at this mysterious creature. It was true…everything she heard from the stagehands and the ballet; the Phantom was real.

Eric smiled a menacing wicked grin and held his arms out from his side, as if displaying himself. "Behold your captor my dear; behold your eternity."

She said nothing. Her eyes fluttered slightly, before rolling back and collapsing on the floor.

* * *

 **Well ladies and gentlemen, Eric and Tris finally meet each again after all these years, and it's not off to a great start. I'm with Marlene on this one- like seriously Eric? Lock up her in a cage in the meantime? The poor girl just lost everything! Don't worry, don't expect Tris to be a weeping fragile flower! What is in store for our heroine and Phantom? And who shall remember the other first? I wonder what shall occur?;3**


	8. VII: Distortion

**Hello again after I think after a week or two long absence! Finals are over, classes are finished, and I am officially now a college graduate! I'm so happy! I've moved about home for a bit and taking this week to get readjusted and situated while looking for jobs, but until then I shall continue to write as often as I can! Thank you for all the feedback and patience, and now I present to you the newest chapter!**

* * *

 _"It's in your soul where the true distortion lies."_

 _-_ The Phantom of The Opera

Her head hurt. Tris groaned as she slowly awoke, her head throbbing with pain as if someone were banging it like a drum. Why did her pillow feel so hard? Almost as if it felt like…stone?

Her eyes flew open as a sudden memory filled her brain.

"Please…it had to have been a nightmare…" she whispered to herself. But as her eyes slowly took in the dim light that was all around her, she could see that her nightmare was more terrifying than she thought possible.

Bars. Before her she saw nothing but cold iron bars. She was in a cage.

"No…" she whispered, quickly rising to her feet and gripping the hard metal with her tiny fists.

"Hello?" she cried, banging on the bars, knowing she could not pry them apart, yet still her body tried. "Someone? Please? HELP ME! CAN ANYONE HEAR ME?"

She continued banging on the bars, praying that someone somewhere…other than the Phantom, would hear her cries. The Phantom. She trembled as she remembered him, standing before her, clad in black, darker than midnight, save for his black mask. Why did he wear a mask? Was it to enhance the terror his reputation had already sent forth? Or…was it something far more sinister? She recalled some of the stories she heard the ballet girls chattering about when Madame Wu was not present. Stories about the Phantom and his terrifying face.

However, his face was the least of her worries. Her father! The Phantom had her father removed…but where? Did he release him as he had ordered? Or was it all a trick? A trick to have his revenge on her father while still keeping her for…

Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought, and she felt the bile rise slightly.

No, she would not let any man have her, not that way, never! She would kill herself before it happened! Or kill him…

"There must be a way out of here," she muttered, stepping away from the bars and examining her prison. Was there a door? She could not see one, but there had to be one! She peered all around her, noticing for the first time hanging racks filled with nothing but elaborate costumes…costumes that she realized had long since been forgotten. Perhaps there was a door behind the racks! She pushed through the fabric, trying to see if she could find anything, when a loud thump startled her. Tris whirled around to where the noise had come from, peering out past the bars, but saw no one.

"Hello?" she asked the air with a shaky voice. She could hear breathing, but saw no one! "Is someone there?"

Nothing…

And then, "SHE'S AWAKE!"

Tris screamed as a large hunchback emerged from the shadows out of nowhere, his brown baggy thick face pressed against the bars.

"She's awake! She's…" he stopped when he realized Tris was screaming, and then he too, started screaming.

"Uriah! Stop it at once!" Two figures cried, one entering the same way the hunchback did, and the other coming down from the cavern walls and landing with a loud CLANK.

The first figure appeared female, with a shaved head and golden-brown eyes, a delicate nose and full lips, with an eyebrow piercing; however, Tris wasn't sure if she should call- whatever she or he was because he or she whose curvy body appeared to be split down the middle, one side female and the other male. Tris continued to scream as second figure gripped the bars of her cage with his mechanical hands, half of his body appearing to be like a regular man's body, but the other half was half machine.

"Will, make them shut the hell up before the entire Opera House hears them!" The he/she figure hissed, covering both ears to block out the noise.

"I'm trying!" The clockwork-like man turned to Tris, biting his lip with worry. "Please don't scream mademoiselle, you'll only frighten Uriah more!"

Uriah continued screaming, his cry terrifying and sharp, causing the cavern ceiling to shake.

"Uriah!" as if on cue, all the noise stopped, as a woman with burns and stitches with a limp and languid walk emerged, throwing her shroud off and immediately coming to the hunchback's side to comfort him.

"There, there. Hey, it's okay," she whispered. "It's alright, you just startled her is all, she's not terrified of you…she won't hurt you…"

Tris stared in bewilderment at the three figures that were outside her cage. A woman who looks like a living ragdoll, a hunchback, a woman who was- well half woman and half man, and a man who was almost machine and clockwork; they were all…

"Freaks," the doll woman said out loud, as if reading Tris' thoughts.

"We accept it," she sighed, finally calming Uriah down to where he curled himself up into a ball and rocked himself back and forth, staring at Tris behind the bars. Satisfied, the woman turned and did a small curtsy.

"My name is Marlene," she greeted warmly. "And this is Will and Lynn," she added, indicating the man who gave a friendly smile, and a wave with his mechanical arm, while Lynn gave a weary glance.

"And…well, you've met Uriah," Marlene said with a smile, rubbing a small hand over the hunchback's arm.

"So you can stop looking at us like we're about to attack you," Lynn rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. Marlene gave her a disapproving glare, but Lynn ignored it and looked away.

Tris was at a loss for words; she didn't know what to say! "W-w-who…h-how…"

Will cleared his throat and began to speak.

"We work for the Master, and…were told to keep watch for when you woke up," he explained.

"The Master?" Tris asked, staring at the four of them. "Do you mean…the Phantom?"

Will, Lynn, and Marlene exchanged glances.

"Well," Will muttered. "That is one name…but he prefers 'master'."

Despite the unbelievable chaos of the situation, Tris' face contorted to one of anger at the words.

"He is no master of me," she hissed, before turning her face away to hide the angry tears that threatened to show.

Marlene sighed and approached the cage with sympathy. "Please do not despair…the Master is truly good-"

"GOOD?" Tris whirled around at the words.

"Good? He imprisoned my father! He threatened to kill us! I'M IN A GODDAMN CAGE!" she shouted, rushing to the bars and beating them with her fists.

"He has a temper, but he's not all bad," Will tried to concede. "Why don't you give him a chance-"

"A chance?!" Tris screamed. "I don't want to give him a chance! I don't want anything to do with him! He's nothing more than a monster!"

The four figures stepped back and Uriah whimpered. Marlene immediately placed a calming hand on the hunchback's arm and his whimpering ceased. The girl was right; the Master behaved like a monster earlier, so how else would she think of him?

Tris stared at the figures then turned away, sitting on the rocky ground and tucking her legs up under her chin. Marlene gazed upon the girl's crumpled form, sighed, and turned to the others.

"Why don't you both go and wait for the Master to return." Lynn and Will took the hint and urged Uriah to follow.

"Goodbye gypsy girl!" Uriah said somewhat happily, before turning and leaving with Will and Lynn.

Tris turned her head slightly to watch as the trrio left. Marlene smiled softly, although her eyes were filled with utmost sympathy.

"Uriah loves the story of _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_ …I confess, I asked Will to change the ending somewhat for him…now whenever he sees a beautiful girl, he thinks she's Esmeralda," she chuckled softly. Tris still remained frozen.

"My dear-"

"Please," Tris whispered, "Just…just leave me alone."

Marlene bit her lip. "Would you like me to bring you something hot to drink? Are you hungry? I-"

"Please just go," Tris whispered again, curling herself up into a tiny ball and hugging her legs even closer than before. Marlene sighed and lowered her head in defeat. Time was what the girl needed most.

"Here, in case you get cold," she whispered, pushing a wool blanket through the bars. Tris didn't say a word, she simply lay where she was. Marlene sighed and began to walk away. Yet she stopped, paused, and turned one more time.

"I just…I just wanted to say…that I think what you did was extremely brave. I don't think many people would have been able to do what you did…" Tris didn't respond at all. Marlene gave a soft smile, tears threatening her own eyes, before turning and leaving the girl alone in her cage of iron and despair.

For the longest time she lay there, still as a mouse, listening to her surroundings, listening for the agonizing sound of footsteps. Yet none came. She turned her head slightly, looking around her dim surroundings (a single torch illuminated the cavern, which hung near the cavern's only entrance), and satisfied that she was truly alone, sprung to her feet and frantically began to look for a way out.

 _Somewhere…I know there is a door here somewhere!_ She pushed through the layers of dusty cob-webbed covered costumes, coughing and sneezing here and there, desperately seeking the way out of her prison. And then…at last, hiding behind a large heavy black drape, she found it…the tiny door that kept her and freedom apart.

It was locked, as she suspected, but that didn't matter. She would get out, and she was quite determined! She grabbed the last hairpin she had, causing her already loose hair to fall completely down her back and shoulders, and set to work. She had to hurry, for she could hear, ever so softly, the last chorus of the opera being sung.

* * *

"HEY! GET OUT OF HERE! THIS IS NO PLACE FOR DRUNKARDS OR BEGGARS!"

Andrew gasped in pain as he felt a sharp thick boot kick him hard in his side. He glanced up, his eyes red and swollen, seeing a man in a maroon uniform glare down at him. He immediately recognized the uniform as belonging to one of the doormen of the Opera House. Why was he outside the Opera House, and why was this man kicking him and urging him to move along?

And then it all came back.

"BEATRICE!" Andrew cried, quickly rising as fast as his frail legs would allow. "My daughter! You must help me!" he wailed, gripping the lapels of the doorman's coat. "He has her! He has my daughter!"

"GET OFF!" the doorman shouted, shoving Andrew away. "And move on before I call the police!"

Police? Yes! That was exactly what he needed!

"Yes! Please! We must get the police at once! I must find my son and I need to speak with the manager Max and David, they will help me, I know it!" The doorman stopped Andrew and shoved him again, this time sending the man to the ground.

"GET OUT OF HERE YOU DRUNKEN FOOL!" he clenched his fist in a threatening manner, and Andrew suddenly realized in his panic that this man was not going to let him by. The man didn't know him, and Andrew looked at his own tattered and mud-caked clothes and knew it was a lost cause. Who would believe that he was an employee of the Paris Opera House?

"Are you deaf, man? I SAID GO!" Andrew quickly sprung to his feet before the doorman had the opportunity to kick him again with his boot.

"WAIT! STOP!" Someone called out. Andrew looked over the doorman's shoulder and saw Caleb running out of the grand front doors. He reached his father's side and tore the doorman's hand off of his shoulder. "Wait monsieur please! There's been a misunderstanding-"

"What is the meaning of this?!" The doorman sneered at the pianist. "You know this man?"

"He's my father and the administrative assistant for the Opera House!" Caleb conceded. "Please, let him pass! The managers have been looking for him!"

The doorman eyed the duo with disgusted suspicion and scoffed. "Fine! Take him! But don't' let this be a repetitive occurrence!"

Caleb and Andrew quickly scampered up the stairs and back into the Opera House, hearing the doorman's threats behind him. Once standing inside the grand lobby, Caleb turned to his father with a sigh of relief.

"Thank God you're alright. How did you escape-" He said, but noticed lack of a female presence beside his father's side. That was when he noticed his father's stricken face. "Where's Beatrice-"

"Beatrice…" Andrew panicked and gripped his son's shoulders. "He has her! She went down there and he took her! Why did you leave me?! Why did you let go on her own?"

"She's with the Phantom?!" Caleb gasped. "How did this happen?! Madame Wu sent her home! How could you let her stay with the Phantom-"

"HOW COULD I?!" Andrew bellowed, catching the attention of passing passerby of patrons and opera servants. "HOW COULD I?! HOW COULD YOU LEAVE ME WITH HIM?! NOW BECAUSE YOUR SISTER RISKED HER LIFE TO GO DOWN THERE SHE'S HIS PRISONER! H-how- how could I have allowed her to stay… what kind of father am I?"

Andrew slid down to the marbled floor on his knees, sobbing and gripping his face with his hands. Caleb, guilt-stricken and knowing the entire predicament was his fault, looked at his father with a heavy heart. Looking around at the gaping audience they were receiving at the grand hall, Caleb quickly helped Andrew back onto his feet and gripped his shoulders again.

"We don't have time to decide who takes the blame. We can't lose our heads right now," Calev reasoned in an attempt to sober the man up. "Right now we need to think of a plan to get her back and find someone who can help us."

Andrew looked miserably at his son and nodded his head in agreement. He knew Caleb was right. They had to find someone else who would help them…but who? Would the police believe them? No, they needed someone of a higher station who knew them, someone who would help them find a way to get Tris back! But who? Who had such influence to help a grieving father?

* * *

"And…remember the way she paused, because there was supposed to be…that piano solo!" laughed a well-dressed gentleman, before taking another drink from his brandy glass.

A small group of men erupted with laughter, each pounding one another on the back, lighting cigars, and drinking brandy as the minutes ticked by.

"That was priceless…" another man chuckled. "Oh Tobias, you sure picked a good star! At least we all now have something to entertain us at that bloody place!"

Tobias gave a small trying smile to his friend's comment, his fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose as he inwardly dealt with his irritation. The evening was somewhat short of horrible. At least the horridness disappeared when Jeanine wasn't on stage. Unfortunately, there were only three scenes in the whole opera when she made no appearance. And despite the money he was making off her name and so-called talents, he hated feeling like a fool, which was exactly what his friends were doing.

"She reminded me of my dog," one man added. "Except I think that bitch can actually hit a proper note!" the others burst out laughing, while Tobias simply glared.

"Oh come now Tobias," a dark-haired man chuckled. "Despite the woman's less than spectacular performance, the evening was a success."

"Here, here!" the others crowed.

"Indeed!" the dark-haired man continued. "No doubt, thanks to our friend Norton," he said, lifting his glass in the direction of a gentleman who was sitting with them, "who as we all know has such a high influence with the papers, a good review will be published and more people will come to see the woman, and more money will be placed in our pockets! See? Everyone wins!"

Tobias gave a glare to his friend, but then a smile spread across his face.

"Indeed, you are right Drew," he said, raising his glass. "To Jeanine Matthews and the money she will bring to us all…was I not right to encourage you to invest with the Opera?"

The men chuckled. "Indeed, except for poor Albert, who only goes because his wife insists!"

Al gave the others a glare. "How else am I to convince her that I'm not going out every night to be with my mistress? I swear the woman has spies following me!"

"Oh who gives a damn what the woman thinks," Drew grumbled. "It's your own bloody fault that you got married in the first place!"

"I needed an heir!" Al defended.

"Don't we all?" Norton added. "Yet you don't hear the rest of us who are married complaining. Why? Because we know who is the head of our households, and it's not our bloody wives!" several other men cheered to Norton's words and lifted their glasses in a toast.

"Too true," Drew added, lighting another cigar. "Really Al, the next thing you're going to tell us that she insists that you actually give her pleasure when you're fucking her!"

"If she lets you," Norton added. The men burst out laughing while Al turned a bright red.

"Leave the man alone," Tobias interjected, although he had been laughing along with the others. "The point of a mistress is so that you don't have to sleep your wife! And Al is the only one who's future is secure with at least two heirs."

"Legitimate heirs," Al grumbled.

"Here, here," Norton chuckled.

"Speaking of mistresses," Drew commented, "How does it go with the dried up soprano?"

Tobias was sipping his brandy when he heard the words. He glared from the rim of his glass at his friend, but forced a polite smile.

"She still serves her purposes," he simply said. "And you good man? Still pursuing young male falsettos?"

Drew turned a deep shade of red while the other men burst out laughing. Tobias couldn't help but grin wickedly.

"Come now Drew," he muttered with a cigar between his lips. "We are all friends, are we not?"

Drew forced a smile at the Vicomte. "Actually, I have met a delicious ballet girl by the name of Molly. Very buxom for a dancer, and has a mouth like you wouldn't believe…not to mention a throat…"

The others were leaning in close, practically drooling at the man's words. "And she tells me Tobias, that you've been seen attempting to…seduce the new costume girl?"

The other men turned to the Vicomte with surprised looks. "A costume girl? Tobias, I distinctly remember you saying how the lowest a man could sink was with a chorus girl…but a costume girl? What has fucking Jeanine done to you?"

Before Tobias could speak, Drew continued. "Not only has he been seen attempting to lure this girl to his bed-"

"-or lounge," A; chuckled.

"But it seems that…could it be…the costume girl has spurned you?"

The others stared in horror. "Tobias…if a mere costume girl spurns you…there's no hope for the rest of us."

"She did not SPURN me!" Tobias growled, chewing on his cigar. "And I will have that girl…and if you had seen this woman, you'd understand why she's worth the pursuit! Luscious curves, full breasts, an ample bottom that's never felt anything other than the fabric of her undergarments…not to mention nimble little fingers that could grip anything hard and thick…"

Now the men were drooling at Tobias' description. Drew snorted with disgust, causing the trance to break.

"Point being that you haven't succeeded in bedding her," he grumbled. "Now, if you'll excuse me gentlemen, I am meeting the delectable Molly who is going to introduce me to one of her dear little friends, and the three of us are going to go back to my apartment for a private party, while you sorry lot sit here and smoke cigars with one another. Good evening," he said, before tipping his hand and heading towards the door.

Yet the second Drew reached it, two men, one young and one old, looking frantic, burst inside, crying the Vicomte's name.

"The Vicomte de Sevoy? We're looking for the Vicomte? Have you seen him? Anyone? Please!"

Drew looked at Tobias from across the room, and Tobias rose to his feet, locking eyes with his friend before looking at the newly unexpected arrived guests.

"Please! I have to find him! He can help us, I know it! I-MONSIEUR LE VICOMTE!" Andrew rushed to Tobias' side and practically fell to his knees with Caleb following from behind.

"Monsieur, you must help me! Please! He has her! He's taken her! WE MUST GET THE POLICE AT ONCE!"

"Who are you?" Tobias asked in disgust, moving away from the lunatic that had fallen at his feet. He glanced at the young man who appeared to be embarrassed for the both of them. "Both of you?"

Andrew glanced up, surprised by the Vicomte's words, not to mention his tone. Yet he was covered in mud and dirt, he was probably unrecognizable.

"Why it's me monsieur, Monsieur Prior? And my son, Caleb? We work for the Opera House. You once complimented my son on his playing on the piano."

"Did I?" Tobias asked, lifting an eyebrow. "I confess, I do not remember speaking to people like you…but then the Opera House is filled with many…" he looked Andrew and Caleb up and down before removing his scented handkerchief and lifting it to his nose. "Anyway, why do you come here sir, interrupting the merriment of my club in such a distressed state?"

"Monsieur le Vicomte, there's been an emergency. You must help us-" Caleb tried to intervene and explain before things got worse until his father got in the way in hysterics.

"HE HAS HER MONSIEUR! WE MUST SAVE HER! PLEASE!" Andrew was gripping the Vicomte's evening coat, holding on for dear life, praying that this man would believe him and Caleb.

The Vicomte was overwhelmed by the stench the man was in, and managed to push the feeble man off him, coughing at the smell.

"Remove him from here," he muttered to some of the staff who had come to see what the commotion was all about.

"NO! Monsieur, my daughter is Beatrice! The costume girl! You have spoken with her, on several occasions, am I not correct? Please! You must help me get her back!"

"Father stop, you're not making this any better! Monsieur, please let me explain-"

"Alright that's it! It's time for the both of you to leave!" one of the staff members grumbled, dragging the Prior men away.

Tobias rolled his eyes. "Get her back from whom?"

"THE PHANTOM! THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!"

There was a brief moment of silence, before the whole room burst into laughter. Everyone save for the Vicomte. He hated talk about the Phantom. It was a myth that was created by drunk stagehand Edgar, but he hated how it continued to live on, and how there were those that felt it necessary to make the myth seem real by sending threats and demands, not to mention the hysteria several people at the Opera House had over the silly ghost stories.

"Get them out of here," Tobias growled, before sitting back down at his table and taking a long drink from his glass.

"NO! MONSIEUR, PLEASE! HE HAS HER! WE MUST SAVE HER!"

"Your daughter probably ran off with a stage hand to offer him her so-called virginity. I mean what can one except from a costume girl?" Tobias' offhand comment was greeted by hysterical laughter, and Andrew and Caleb stared in horror at the Vicomte as he was dragged away and thrown out onto the street.

"STAY OUT!" they shouted at him, before slamming the door in his face.

Andrew stared at the closed doors, the horrible words ringing in his ears. The one man who he thought cared for his daughter was a cad…and he and his son were truly alone. The managers had laughed them off, fired them, and wouldn't see them, no one would let them back inside the Opera House, and now its most powerful patron had abandoned them as well…not to mention had turned out to be snake.

"That's it then. There's nothing else we can do," Caleb bemoaned. "We've lost her forever."

"No we haven't! I'll go to the police myself!" Andrew said with determination. "I have to save her…I must!"

* * *

Tori had waited till the theater was practically empty, save for a few stage hands that were cleaning up. She had urged Christina to go home with several friends and explained she had some important matters to discuss with the managers. Now that she was alone, she made her way towards the secret door that she always used to gain access to the secret labyrinth of the Phantom.

Yet the door was locked. It had never been locked before, it was a secret passage that only she and Eric knew how to open! And only Erik had the power to lock it…

"Good evening madam," Eric greeted coldly as always.

Tori whirled around, staring at the shadows in front of her, before seeing the tall masked figure image from the darkness. "Eric! W-w-what are you doing up here!"

"I may feel free to move about my theater however I please," he explained, before extending an envelope to the woman. "Here is a note I wish you to give to my dear managers. It's rather thick…due to all the corrections they need to make before the next performance."

Tori stared up at Eric, his face always unreadable, mask or no mask. "Perhaps the performance would have been better if a certain pianist was present."

Eric snorted. "He arrived a few minutes late and I highly doubt it…that harpy can butcher anything, from a simple scale of notes to the most beautiful opera composed. No concert piano solo would have saved the evening."

"What about the father? Where is he Eric?" Tori asked, feeling her body shake with fury. She hated these games, he only said such things to prolong the agony, like a cat that had caught a mouse, but was merely playing with it before killing the wretched creature.

Eric had been pacing when the conversation began, yet now stood frozen, his grey eyes catching the ballet mistress'.

"You know my rules," he growled.

"Eric, please! They didn't mean you any harm, and you know it! Let Monsieur Prior, he's barely been here long enough to know anything about you! He-"

"THEN IT WAS HIGH TIME HE FOUND OUT!" the Phantom barked, retreating to the shadows, his cape billowing behind him. Yet he had not gone. Tori could still hear his breathing, could still feel his presence in the small space.

"Is he dead?" she asked, her voice heavy with weariness. How could she approach Tris and Caleb with such news? "Eric?"

"You know my rules, madam."

"DAMN YOUR RULES ERIC! IS THE MAN DEAD?" she had had enough of this nonsense.

There was a long pause, so long that Tori wasn't sure if he was still there or not. Eric had the uncanny ability to move about like…well, for lack of better words, a ghost. Unseen, unheard, yet very present. All of sudden, a hand shot out in the dark and grabbed her by the neck. With a gasping strangled cry, Tori could feel Eric roughly drag her over to the chasm and dangle in the cold open air with just his arm. He was strong, and Tori knew that Eric had the power to just snap her with just one hand or just let her go and let the fall kill her as her body hit the sharp and ragged rocky ground. She dangled her feet, hoping to reach the solid surface or anything to keep her balanced. Finally, the silence and her train of gasping for air was broken.

"You forget yourself," She could hear him hiss from the shadows. "You forget that I allow you to enter my world. You forget that you are a guest…and you forget that I have the power to control whether those booby traps that you pass so easily go off or not. I do not take orders from you…and I do not answer questions unless I wish to."

Tori saw black spots in her vision as felt a cold shiver run up and down her body and the way her throat was constricting from Eric's hold on her neck . Was he declaring her an enemy like all the others? The last thing the Opera House needed was a war, and she knew that if Eric's madness was driven beyond the point of no return, a war was what would happen. The ghastly things he was doing right now were by no means the crescendo of his fiendishness. Finally, Eric yanked her back from over the edge of chasm and just let fall on the bridge with a loud thud. He sneered as he heard coughing and gasping for air.

"Get the fuck out," Eric whispered; the harshness of his voice was somewhat less, but the coldness remained very present. "Go home and rest. The ballet has much to work on before the next opera."

Tori slowly stood up, massaging her neck. Most likely she will have to wear a high-collared dress tomorrow to hide the hand print bruises on her neck that were soon to appear. Her face tightened into one of anger as his words continue to ring in her head. How dare he tell her how to properly run a ballet company! She was a dancer, not he!

"Stick to your compositions Eric," she hissed. "I do not tell you how to write music, do not tell me how to train my dancers."

Eric found himself taken aback by her words.

"This is my theater madam, I run things here!" the rage was boiling in his voice. "You best watch yourself. And you shall deliver that note-"

"DELIVER IT YOURSELF!" she shouted, throwing the note on the bridge floor and stomping on it with her boot.

"I am done playing your messenger and spy," she hissed to the shadows. She turned on her heel then and began to stalk off, her black skirts billowing behind her.

"HOW DARE YOU-"

"NO!" she cried out, wheeling around. "How dare you! How dare you threaten an innocent man, how dare you commit heartless murders, how dare you patronize my years of extensive research and training in the art of dance!" she had never felt such fury.

"You know something Eric…I am sorry that the world turned its back on you because of your face. I'm sorry that the world spat at you, that the world denied you, that the world caged you and then laughed at you and called you names. But how you are perceived now is your own responsibility! You control the monster, not the world! The way you show no compassion for anyone or anything! The way you threaten others, the way you…you use women for whatever lusts you crave! And the way you talk…how this is your theater, how these are your rules! Do you have any fucking idea who you are sounding like?"

There was a long silence. She took a deep breath, not sure if he were still there or not, but knew she had to say it.

"I see no difference Eric…no difference whatsoever between yourself and the Vicomte de Sevoy!" With that, she turned and picked up her skirts and ran, not looking back, not once.

Eric was in the shadows, he had not gone. He had stayed that whole time, listening to her words, wanting to lash out, wanting to scream, actually throw her the chasm again and actually let her go, but he was frozen. Did he breathe? Did his heart beat? Did he have a heart?

What did she mean by that? No difference between himself and the Vicomte…there were PLENTY of differences! Erik appreciated music, all the Vicomte cared about was money! The Vicomte was this blonde Apollo figure, while Eric was more like the disfigured Hephaestus. Yes, Erik paid for women to…but he did not leave them pregnant and ruin their promising careers! He groaned and clenched his fists, damning his uncontrollable lusts for flesh, damning all that the world had done to him! He couldn't go out into the world! He had been put into a carnival freak show! His own mother had abandoned him as a child! What else could he do? He had no choice but to go into hiding, and if no one else was going to care for the Opera House, for the art of music, then he had to! He looked like a monster, but he was not like the Vicomte, he wasn't…he wasn't…he…he…

In a roar of wild rage, Eric stalked away from the chasm and headed down one of his many passageways, down to his labyrinth, down to his hell, down to his sanctuary! And while he fled, he remembered the girl, remembered the body that he found himself lusting for when he first saw her there in the cavern, her fiery spirit shining like a beacon in her wild blue grey eyes, and how he tried to shake off the feeling a familiarity towards her, and was soon returning.

And he had never been more disgusted with himself. He actually thought himself above the Vicomte, but he realized that by doing what he intended, by turning the girl into an unwilling slave for his own pleasure…

Tori was right, goddamn it! He was no different than the Vicomte!

He shouldn't go to her; he should leave her where she was and not have anything to do with her! He could release her like her father, send her away, be sure the Opera House would not take her back, get rid of her as he got rid of her father and never be plagued by her beauty again! That would make him different from the Vicomte!

Yet despite these thoughts he found himself running, flying it seemed, through the dark tunnels, through the dimly lit chambers, past rocks, past the underground lake, past deeply cut pits that he truly believed led to hell itself. He flew to the area of his world where he knew she was kept, and he did not stop till he reached the cavern.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

He listened, but he couldn't hear the sound of her breathing.

He swiftly approached the cage, not caring if she screamed, just having to see her, not sure why, but feeling the need to simply look at her face, look into her storm-colored eyes and somehow, find something in them that resembled what part of humanity he had, that did not reflect the Vicomte, but reflected his own monster, that reflected himself.

He gripped the bars, unsure what to say. What was her name? Beatrice… His mind sang to him, but he felt like that name didn't suit at all. He was certain she had a nickname He had heard the ballet girls say it often…Bea? Betty? No, no those weren't it… it was Tris… Yes! But should he reveal that he knew her name? Did it matter? An image formed in his mind suddenly of a little girl clad in grey, her eyes filled with curiosity, confusion, and kindness. The image Eric realized was a memory that he thought he had hidden away a long time ago back to a time he would rather forget; however, through that hellish time, she had been a light in a brief moment when he first laid eyes on her. _'It's not possible… She couldn't possibly…'_ Eric's mind ran wild at the thought. He simply wanted to look at her, not dwell on the past! Maybe, and just maybe, if he got a closer look at her, then maybe it'll confirm if he was or not ascending into madness into placing this woman into the role of the little girl that stumbled across his stage at the carnival all those years ago. Her sleeping form would suffice, anything, just…

He froze.

On the ground, inside the cage, lay a blanket and several costumes that had fallen from the hangers they had been hung on. He didn't have to peer inside to see what had happened. He already knew, for on the ground, shining dimly from the torch light lay a glistening hair pin.

And next to the pin, was an open door.

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 **R &R! Oh! and just another word and thought! ****Is there anything you would like to what happens and want to see? I want this to be a story where my readers can interact and tell me what they want.**


	9. VIII: Demon

**I figured that since you guys have been so awesome lately I figured that I would present you a new chapter! I hope that you all enjoy because things are about to get a little more... messy. I know I'm horribleXD**

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 _"Stranger than you dreamt it_  
 _Can you even dare to look_  
 _or bare to think of me:_  
 _this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell."_

 _-_ The Phantom of The Opera

Empty.

The cage was empty.

She was gone. She had promised to take her father's place, and now she was gone.

He felt like a fool. He had actually felt sorry for her! Felt sorry for taking her prisoner, for frightening her, and for the threats he had made. And he had flown to this cage, hoping that somehow he could find some thread of humanity within him by simply looking at her.

And she had abandoned him.

"PETER! WILL! MARLENE! LYN! GET THE HELL IN HERE NOW!"

Within moments, the others arrived, looking frantic and worried when they saw their master, his whole body rigid with fury.

"The girl is gone…" he growled. The four could feel the rising heated fury and temper radiating from their master's body. They could see him seething as his body moved with his breathing.

Marlene gasped and looked at the cage, seeing the open door. She should have stayed, she shouldn't have left, the poor child. She blamed herself completely for this.

"She's out?" Peter sputtered, his body beginning to tremble.

"She'll tell…she'll…she'll tell the others…they'll…they'll be down here after us!" his voice broke into hysterics. In two strides Eric had Peter by the back of the neck and slapped the man so hard, he would have stumbled backward had not Eric been holding him upright.

"FIND HER!" he hissed. "She will not tell anyone…find her NOW!"

Will, Lynn, and Peter turned and left the cavern as quickly as they had arrived. Marlene was holding a small hand to her mouth, looking frightened and worried.

"She'll get herself killed Master…she does not know these tunnels like us! She'll-"

"Take Uriah with you and look for her…" he growled, turning his back on the doll-like woman.

"But Master-"

"DO AS I SAY!" he roared, turning abruptly, his amber eyes wild with rage. The Marlene squealed and ran away, calling for Uriah as she went. Eric felt his body sag as if a weight had been lifted. The rage of the moment had passed, but only momentarily. He needed to quench his fury, and there was only one way that he could turn his anger into art; turn his madness into beauty.

He raced to his private cavern, the place where he kept his beloved organ, and once there, shrugged off the hood of his hood and took off the coat, took off his gloves, even untied the cravat tie and unbuttoned his vest, and seated himself at the bench, sweat dripping down his forehead, his heart pumping wildly, as he drew the score to the music stand. His fingers moved over the familiar keys, and without looking down, he began to play. The song was his own composition, one he wrote during a very bad mood, and it was a song that could either soothe the rage he felt…or kindle it to wildfire.

The only good thing about emotions was the artistic drive they gave for his compositions. He played passionately, his fingers large and rough, yet so skilled and quick, moving over the keys like a harsh caress. He pounded on them harder as he felt the fury grow more and more in his blood. He played faster, his whole body shaking with each note, the organ causing the ceiling and walls to tremble. His body was tense, rigid, every muscle rippling in his back, shoulders, and arms, and yet he continued to play, not caring for the pain he could feel, or the blood that dripped from his blistered fingers.

In a tiny corner of the dark room, Tris lifted her head from behind a stone gargoyle she had been using as a hiding place. Once she had escaped her prison, her joy was short lived, for she realized all too soon that her true prison was this underground labyrinth of rock and shadow. She moved quietly through the stone caverns so as not to attract attention from the Phantom's servants. There had to be a way out, if she could find the way in which she had come…but then strange things began to happen. She had turned a corner, decided it was the wrong way, and upon turning around, found the way she had come blocked off. When or how this happened she was unsure, but she realized that she was in far greater danger outside of the cage than in it.

She continued on her unknown journey, her hands the only thing that guided her, for she had no lamp and there was no light in these tunnels. She heard voices overhead, and then she heard the furious scream of the Phantom; he had just learned of her escape. She had to hurry.

She moved as quickly as possible, her hands stretched out, her feet unsure, but she continued moving. Several times she stumbled and fell, feeling her skirts ripping, but not caring, forcing herself up and moving onward. Then, up ahead, she saw light. It was dim, but it was still light. She moved towards it, faster and faster, gasping as she felt her leg cut against something sharp. She bit her lip and held back the painful cry, especially as she realized her leg was bleeding somewhat. But she continued, and finally, she reached the dimly lit place, and found herself staring in wonder at her new surroundings.

It was a large cavern, bigger than some of the others she had seen. There were lush Persian rugs on the ground, silver candle operas, and vibrate medieval tapestries that hung from the walls. There were mahogany chairs and tables, covered with musical instruments and piles upon piles of parchment. She looked at one pile, and realized that it was a musical score. No…an opera! One that she had never heard of… _Don Juan Triumphant_.

A breeze rushed through the cavern and made a soft howling sound. She looked up to see what caused the sound and gasped loudly at the sight of the magnificent pipe organ that seemed imbedded with the rock. She began to approach it, but then heard a noise…like footsteps…in the distance.

Someone was coming. Or worse, he was coming. She had to hide. Somewhere, anywhere! She saw a curtained area off to her left and dashed for it, flinging the curtains open, looking for a place to hide, but finding instead…a bedroom? Yes, a large mahogany bed that looked as if it belonged to a Middle Eastern sheik. It was covered with soft sheer veils, large purple and scarlet gold-trimmed pillows, and a lush blanket that looked like velvet and silk combined. Was this the Phantom's bedchamber? It reminded her of something she had read in a gothic romance, but all thoughts of such things vanished when she heard the footsteps quickly approaching. She could not hide here, what if he came in? Her only other option was behind a large stone gargoyle that filled a tiny corner at the far end of the organ room. And so she hid, and she waited, and she held her breath as the raging Phantom entered the chamber, throwing off some of his garments, and began to play most passionately at the organ.

She bit her lip as she watched him. The way he played…as if he was tortured by something. She had never seen anyone play with such passion, or with such fury. She should be afraid, yet she wasn't…she was intrigued.

The haunting music sounded familiar in some way to her, like she had heard it before in a dream. And the more she felt pulled towards the music, the more she felt a strong curious and familiar pull. As much as she wanted to refuse to place this… monster into the role of the mysterious man of her dreams, it strangely somehow all made sense. She found herself being drawn from her hiding place, rising slowly and softly from the shadows and stepping into the soft candlelight. He had his back to her; the emotion in which he played had all his attention, she even wondered if he could hear her. She knew that the others would be looking for her, yet she believed she had a better chance of escaping with them in pursuit than with the Phantom. This was her chance. She could slip out, unnoticed, and seek an exit. She would find something, she was sure of it. She just had to do it before he realized she was behind him.

But a different voice gnawed at her. He had imprisoned her father, threatened to kill him, threatened her own life, and placed her in a cage. He was cruel, a villainous fiend that was more of a monster than a man. And perhaps because he was a man and not a ghost, was what made him so monstrous.

And she should seek out her revenge.

That was what the voice was telling her. _Why does he wear a mask? Why does he live beneath the Opera House? What is his secret?_ She wanted to know, and had a feeling that by removing his mask, she would learn it. It all lay there, the answer to all her questions, beneath that mask, and all she had to do was reach out and grab it. He wouldn't know; he didn't know that she was there right now, and before he realized what had happened, she would have her revenge. Revenge for holding her prisoner, revenge for harming her father, revenge for all those other people who had lost their lives to the Phantom's wrath.

Four steps. She was four steps away from him. Four…three…

 _No! Just run and leave!_

Two steps. She was only two steps away. His body was slumped over the organ, every muscle tense, every fiber of his being locked with the music. And yet he was still unaware that she was behind him.

 _What the hell are you doing, Tris?! Leave now! Don't do this, you'll regret it!_

One step. She was only one step away. She could easily reach out and grab the mask…one tiny step was all it took.

 _You should have run…you'll never escape now._

Eric was lost in the music. The song had changed from the furious sound in which it had begun to a lonely melody filled with both passion and despair. A song of longing, a song of need; a song that was his autobiography. He played with such emotion that it wasn't until he began to feel the breeze against his deformed cheek that he saw the shadow in the candlelight behind him and noticed the curtain to his bedchamber was fully open, with a small trail of blood on the floor.

And then he felt nothing.

His mask was gone. His face exposed. The cold air hit it like a knife, and he stumbled backwards at the shock of it.

Tris stumbled back too, shocked at what had just happened. Without even thinking, she had reached out and grabbed a hold of his mask and now held it in her small hands. The Phantom sprang to life from his musical enchantment and whirled around to face her, his stone eyes wild and filled with shock, fear, and rage. Rage most especially.

"YOU!" he shouted, his hand flying to his face to cover his exposure.

But it was too late. She had seen it.

Tris stared, her eyes wide in horror. Her mouth fell open, as if wanting to scream, but no sound came out. She stared at the sight of his misshapen deformity and felt her stomach tie up in knots, felt her knees go weak, and felt her head become light. The right side of his face that she had unmasked was a mirror opposite to the other. His "normal" side was rough-skinned with a handsome strong jaw line, like any man who was a workman. But the other…was an entire ruin of a harsh discoloring of his skin tone, red, and pink. There was a twisted mass of scar around his left sunken in eyebrowless discolored eye that appeared partially blind, and had several large deep red scars stretched out over the flesh, looking like blood spots. The strands of his light brown hair that fell across his eyes hid a nasty scar that looked as if someone had hit him with a rock and the wound had never healed. The left side of his nose was elongated and warped, wrinkled and twisted cheek that doesn't form around the bone naturally with his lip drawn up much too far in a permanent feral snarl. She had never seen anyone like this. She had never imagined anyone like this.

"YOU LITTLE BITCH!"

Tris stared up at the Phantom as he advanced upon her, his hand still tightly clamped to his face. "DO YOU REALIZE WHAT YOU HAVE DONE!"

Tris backed away, her body trembling as he advanced. She hadn't realized how he towered over her or how broad his body was. He could easily crush her in two if he wanted…and she had a feeling he did. "DON'T JUST STAND THERE! SPEAK DAMN IT!"

Tris trembled and felt whatever courage she had left slip away from her, backing up more and more as he closed in. She couldn't speak, all she could do was stare and damn herself for her foolishness. Her fingers were shaking so that she dropped the black mask, but in lightning speed, he reached out and grabbed it before it hit the ground. Just as quickly, he placed it back on his face, which calmed him somewhat, but his rage was still kindling.

"Why…didn't you tell me…" he growled, "…that you wanted to see the PHANTOM!" he roared.

Tris yelped as he threw his arms out, grabbing hold of a table and throwing to the ground.

"I…I…" she stammered, refusing to look into his eyes. Unfortunately, this made the Phantom angrier

"WHAT?" he roared again, grabbing hold of a chair and throwing it against the wall, causing it to splinter and crumble apart. He merely took two long strides until he towered over her and forcefully grabbed her hands.

"N-no please st-stop…" she whimpered.

"STOP WHAT?! THIS?!" he screamed, shaking her roughly and causing her to cry out in pain. "CAN YOU EVEN BEAR TO LOOK AT ME?!"

He forcefully grabbed her chin and brought her face closer to his. "COME ON, YOU WANTED A LOOK SO HERE! LOOK AT ME DAMN IT!"

Tris took in a sharp stuttering intake of breath and forced herself to look at the destroyed face. Both sides were contorted in anger, and along his piercings and black inked tattoos on his neck did he appear like an evil and wild demon who ascended from hell to wreck terror and havoc on earth and the living. She had never seen anyone so filled with anger and hatred, and she didn't trust herself to say anything. Yet somewhere in the unbridled hateful fury, she thought she saw some glimmer of… pain? How was that even possible? How could such a horrid man feel such pain? Yet somehow, in some way… she felt she may have known the reason why; however, before she could grasp and analyze on such an emotion, the beast broke her thoughts.

"`Look! You want to see! See! Feast your eyes, glut your soul on my cursed ugliness! Do you like what you see?!" He hissed with a horrible smile, making him appear even more demonic.

"Well, are you satisfied? I'm a very good looking man, don't you think? Or do you think it's another mask?! IS THAT IT?!" He roared.

"TEAR IT OFF AS YOU DID THE OTHER! COME ON! DO IT! I FUCKING INSIST!" The Phantom brought one of Tris' hands closer to his face and forcefully dug her nails in to deformed flesh. He scratched and tore at awful his face with her nails, and tore at his flesh until bled. Tris had to refrain herself from recoiling and gagging at the scratching contact of his face.

"P-please… I…I'm s-s-s-sorry…" she barely whispered, praying to whoever would hear her would end this.

"SORRY? YOU'RE SORRY?" he bellowed, causing the ceiling to shake. He felt his throat throb and burn like a furnace

"YOU'RE ONLY SORRY THAT YOU SAW WHAT YOU SAW!" he accused, letting her go and throwing her to the cavern wall, causing her to cry out in pain from contact. The Phantom sneered at the fallen woman and turned away from her, and threw another chair across the room.

Tris cried out and turned on her heel to flee. As she did so she could hear the Phantom's thunderous voice shout, "GET OUT! GET OUT!"

She ran; ran through the darkness, not caring what she encountered along the way, just having to leave. She gasped when she felt something hard, and almost screamed when she felt it move.

"GYSPY GIRL!" Tris looked up to see the large hunchback grinning at her.

"I found her!" he shouted down the tunnels. "She's here!"

Marlene was there in a matter of seconds.

"My dear!" she panted. "Where h-have you been? We've been so w-worried!"

Tris looked back and forth between the two figures, and then just over Uriah's shoulder to see Will, Lynn, and Peter come into view. Behind them she saw…sky? Was it her imagination? No! The three of them had just come from outside! They were shutting a door behind them!

"Uriah!" Will cried. "Did you just say you found her?"

"Yes!" he cried out joyfully. "She's here! She's-"

Tris pushed past them and bolted for the door where the other two figures had just emerged. The others were so shocked that they didn't have time to react.

"WAIT!" Marlene cried out. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

But Tris didn't look back, she just ran as fast as she could, through the door and out into the Paris night.

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 **Well! This just made things even more complicated! Lol, thank you again and R &R! Oh! and just another word and thought! ****Is there anything you would like to what happens and want to see? I want this to be a story where my readers can interact and tell me what they want.**


	10. IX: Angel

**What's this? Another new chapter this week? I have given you precious readers three chapters in a row? You bet I did! I hope everyone enjoys it!** **Oh! and just another word and thought!** **Is there anything you would like to what happens and want to see? I want this to be a story where my readers can interact and tell me what they want**

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 _"_ _Father said, 'When I'm in heaven, child_  
 _I will send the Angel of Music to you."_

 _-_ The Phantom of The Opera

 _Previously..._

 _"WAIT!" Marlene cried out. "WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"_

 _But Tris didn't look back, she just ran as fast as she could, through the door and out into the Paris night._

They may pursue her, she was unsure, so she didn't look back. Promise or no promise, she couldn't stay there another instant. She was free! But she would not relax, she continued running, down long dark allies and past old crumbling buildings. There was no moon, no stars; Tris could smell rain in the air. Yet she continued running, happy for the dim lit lamps of the Paris streets, happy for the air and wind that was hitting her face. She had no idea where she was, or where exactly she was heading. Paris was still very new to her, and at night, she couldn't tell what street was what, but she ran till her sides throbbed and she was gasping for air. She found herself lost in one of the many back allies of the city, one with a dead end and no indication of where she was.

She knew she should turn around, turn and try to find a way home…or to the police at the very least to try and find her father, but the second she took a step, she cried out as pain shot through her leg. She remembered how she had cut her leg back in the tunnel, and gasped as she saw the trail of blood she had left behind her. She bent down and ripped off a scrap of fabric from her already torn dress and proceeded to dab at the wound and bind it. She winced with pain as tied the knot of her homemade bandage, but all thoughts of pain disappeared when a voice spoke over her.

"Well, well, well…hello pretty thing."

Tris bolted upright at the voice, seeing three large burly looking men standing before her, all smelling of alcohol, cigarettes, and vomit. It was enough to make Tris gag.

"Been a long time since I've had a woman," one of the men remarked. He had a large gut that hung over his trousers and his clothes reeked of sweat and urine. It was understandable why a woman hadn't gone near him for quite some time.

"Come with us pretty," another man belched, reaching out for her. Tris stepped back, lifting her eyes skyward and wondering why all these horrible things were occurring in one night. The man burped again and took a few more steps towards her. "Come on, we can go somewhere quiet…we'll pay you well."

The other two snickered at the comment, while Tris stared wide eyed at them. They thought her a prostitute? She knew she was dirty and her dress was torn, but she did not think she looked like a lady of the night from that alone!

"Get away from me," Tris hissed. Unfortunately, they were blocking the only way out of the ally and when the three of them stood side by side, it was like standing in front of a brick wall. She was trapped and she knew it…she just couldn't show that she knew it. One of the men frowned at her statement.

"The little slut think she's too good for us? Our money is just as good as any other man's," he grumbled. "Come on…been a long night, and we want some company."

"No," Tris stated again, her jaw set, her eyes steady, while her mind was screaming for help. She could pretend to be what they thought she was, pretend so that they would let her pass, thinking she was leading them back to her bordello, and then make a run for it. She was sure she could outrun three drunken stumbling louts, but her leg wouldn't carry her far, the very idea of running caused it to throb with pain. Also, from the look of these men, Tris had a feeling they could care less of where everything took place. They probably expected her to service them right there in that ally, which would explain the mud on their clothes and the stench of urine that perfumed them. While they may not be able to run fast, she knew they could still be dangerous and she had to play things very carefully.

"No?" one of them growled. "Why not? You saying that Edgar ain't good enough for you?"

Edgar…why did that name sound so familiar? Suddenly, the man lunged for her and Tris easily twirled out of his reach, and then it all dawned on her. This was the same man that had lunged at her back stage at the Opera House on that first day! And apparently Edgar hadn't forgotten the incident either, for his eyes went wide with realization after he recovered himself from his unsuccessful attempt of grabbing the girl.

"You…" he whispered, looking at Tris, the realization dawning more and more. There was a wild look in his eyes and Tris swallowed a growing lump in her throat. No amount of twirling would help her for long.

"You…you cost me my job," he accused. Tris felt herself growing angry adn stood with her chin up.

"You cost yourself your own job, all I did was step out of the way! And now I won't repeat myself again: get the hell out of my way!" She cried out as forcefully shoved him with all of her strength to escape when all of a sudden she felt herself be suddenly dragged back in when a different man lunged at her and caught her around the middle, holding her wriggling and struggling body against his over-grown beer gut.

"I got her Edgar! I have her! And…" he grunted as she continued struggling against him. "She's quite a hellcat, this one!" he laughed.

"Get your fucking hands off of me before I cut them off myself!" she screamed. "Let me go!"

"And has quite the mouth- and I know exactly what to do with it. Cover her mouth with something!" Edgar hissed to the man holding her. "We don't want all of Paris coming!"

Tris continued screaming even after the man who had caught her placed a large disgusting hand over her mouth. She gagged as she could smell and taste the filth from his body.

"You know this girl? "She's not a prostitute?" the third man of the group asked Edgar. Edgar shrugged his shoulders.

"All women are whores, that's my motto in life. Whores to be used whenever you need one," he chuckled. Tris' eyes narrowed with hate at the man's words. She kept wriggling and squirming against her captor who was now showing signs of struggle with holding onto her.

"God almighty, she's a hellcat!" the man who was holding her grunted. "Careful Edgar, she may lash out."

Edgar spit on the ground, a sign that he had no worries whatsoever.

"Let's open this pretty package!" the other man cried out, reaching for Tris' dress. Tris struggled even harder when she realized the man's intentions. Then, she had an idea form in her head as she brought bother of legs near her chest and kicked one of Edgar's overweight friends in his protruded gut like a jackrabbit. The man stumbled backwards before landing Edgar and they landed on the hard streets. The man holding Tris was taken aback then howled in pain when Tris elbowed him, forcing him to release her. Taking as her chance to escape, Tris began to make a run for it when Edgar's hand shot out and grabbed her ankle, causing her to fall on top of her chest and her dress rising up to reveal her thighs.

"You stupid little cunt!" Edgar sneered as her forcefully yanked her up by her hair. Tris let out a sharp gasp of pain and found herself shoved back into hands of one of her attackers.

"Ah!" cried out the hotbelly one holding her as she tried to fight to get free.

"Stop it!" he ordered, although she continued to struggle. "It felt nice having her delicious rump wriggle against me, but now it's hard to hold onto her!"

"Shut up," Edgar growled, and punched Tris squarely on the face, reeling her head back. She began to feel dizzy from the punch as she tried to blink away the black spots clouding her vision. She could see Edgar push the other man out of the way. "I'll unwrap this flower…and I get her first."

"No fair!" protested his third companion. "The last time we had a woman, you had her first! She was too tired when she got to me!" Edgar simply grabbed the man by the collar of his shirt and glared at him. The man quickly relented.

"Fine, you can have her first," he whimpered cowardly.

Tris's eyes went wide when she saw the evil smirk on the former stagehand as he reached out and much to her horror, grabbed both sides of her dress and ripped it apart, leaving her only in her corset and undergarments. She screamed in protest beneath the hand that covered her mouth, not believing this was actually happening. Oh how much she hated to admit it, but she was beginning to think that was better off with the Phantom.

"Mmmm…pretty," Edgar grinned, eyeing her breasts from behind the pale white fabric that covered them. His large grubby hand reached out to touch her, and Tris summoned up all her strength again, before swinging her leg out and kicking him hard in the groin, and then when he dropped to his knees, in the chin. The man holding her cried out Edgar's name, and at that point, Tris bit down on the man's hand, causing him to yowl in pain. His blood dripped from her mouth, and she wriggled herself loose from his grip. Before the other man could advance upon her, Tris pushed the now howling man towards the other, and the two ran into each other, causing them both to fall down. Without another look, she took off, wincing at the pain in her leg, but fighting through it, she just had to get out of the ally, she just-

"AAAAAH!" she screamed as she felt a hand enclose her ankle and pull her down to the muddy ground. Edgar, who was still gripping his balls in one hand, had reached out and grabbed her ankle, twisting it in just a way that would cause her to fall, and sprain herself. She would not be running now.

"You little bitch! Stay the fuck where you are!" he spat, his body flopping on top of hers. "I'll teach you! I'll show you!"

Tris screamed and cried, her face now wet with tears as she could feel his dirty hands reaching into her undergarments, seeking out her legs which she kept tightly shut.

"You'll like this, I promise you that," he grinned wickedly, his disgusting mouth coming down on hers. Tris was able to move her head away just in time, and she screamed as she felt his tongue and lips on her skin. She wriggled, squirmed, kicked, bit, scratched, whatever she could do to free herself.

"Hold her down, damn it!" Edgar yelled to one of his friends.

"And shut up!" he shouted, shaking Tris roughly, before raising his arm to backhand her. Tris prepared herself to feel the stinging fire spread across her cheek, but it never came.

"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?" Her eyes flew open at the sound of one of Edgar's friends whimpering in fear, and standing just over her, she saw the Phantom, gripping Edgar's fist in his large leather clad hand.

"I wouldn't, if I were you," he growled dangerously.

Edgar stared up at the dark being before him, his eyes wide in both horror and shock. He told the Phantom's tales to frighten the ballet girls, but…he never truly believed the ghost stories. Yet now, as he gazed up at the man clad in black, with a cape billowing around his body, and his face covered in the shadows, save for the outline of a black mask, he knew…he knew this was the infamous Phantom of the Opera. The Angel of Death himself.

The man who had his hand bitten rose and with a shout charged at the Phantom, but he easily side stepped the man, who went headfirst into a pile of garbage. The other man rose and attacked, but Eric whirled around before lashing out with his leg, kicking the man in the gut, causing him to double-over, and then proceeding to elbow him hard in the spine.

With those two on the ground groaning in pain, Eric then turned his attention on Edgar, who was still on top of the costume girl. "If you release her now, I'll let you and your friends live…if you do not…well, you know the stories."

Edgar stared up at the Phantom, his mouth open but no sound coming forth. However, a grin slowly spread across his features as he saw one of his friends rise up slowly behind the Phantom, holding a long shard of wood in his hand, aiming it at Eric's head.

"I don't take orders from a masked freak," Edgar spat.

Eric sighed. "You just did a very stupid thing, monsieur."

Eric's senses were keen, like a wolf, and he bent just in time as the man swung at him with the wood. He kicked the man hard in the balls, then took the wood from his hands and used it as a club against him, hitting him hard across the face with it. Edgar stared in horror and turned his attentions to his other friend who was still groaning on the ground. "DON'T JUST SIT THERE! FIGHT THE BASTARD!"

Tris took this opportunity to bite down on his hand, causing him to yowl in pain and remove his filthy body just somewhat off her. With all her strength, she kicked her knee up which made contact with Edgar's groin, before screaming at Eric, "BEHIND YOU!"

Eric whirled around at that second to escape the lunge caused by Edgar's other friend, who was holding a knife. The blade did however make contact with the tails of Eric's trench coat, tearing a large hole in it. He growled and grabbed hold of the man's hand, twisting it till he dropped the blade.

"I rather like this coat," he hissed, before kicking the man with his boot, sending him backwards into a wall.

Yet once again, as soon as he was done fighting one man, the other recovered and leapt to his feet, attacking Eric again, this time throwing his whole body on top of the Phantom's. Eric was not prepared for this attack, and therefore taken by surprise by the burly man's strength. He winced, but did not cry out in pain as he felt the man punch his lower back. He threw his coat off then and wrapped it tightly around the man's head, causing him to throw blind punches in the air, to which Eric kicked the man hard in his left shin, before punching him even harder in the jaw.

Edgar had now recovered and grabbed Tris by her hair, causing her to cry out painfully as he lifted her off the ground.

"YOU!" he shouted at the Phantom. Eric turned around warily, seeing Edgar hold the girl tightly in one arm, while the other revealed a pistol to which he now held to her head. Tris who had been struggling stopped as she felt the cold metal of the pistol touch her temple.

"DON'T TAKE ANOTHER STEP!" Edgar ordered, thrusting the pistol hard against Tris. "OR I'LL BLOW HER BRAINS ALL ACROSS THIS ALLY!"

Eric did not say a word, he simply faced Edgar head on, his back to his other enemies, knowing he was vulnerable to whatever violence they wished to send his way. He stretched his arms out from his sides, revealing a sword that hung from his right hip.

"PUT THAT ON THE GROUND!" Edgar ordered, indicating to Eric's sword. Eric did not make a move, but calmly, removed the sword and, with excruciating slowness, placed it on the ground.

What game was he playing? Tris had a feeling he knew what he was doing, or at least she hoped he did. She wasn't sure what was going to happen to her, and she was surprised the Phantom had followed her all this way. Why was he risking his life for hers? She had unmasked and humiliated him, she would have thought that of all people, he would take pleasure to see her death. Well, after Jeanine. But why was he doing this…did he truly want to save her life? Or did he simply want to kill these men now…and then her later?

"Now…" Edgar said, trying to sound calm, but anyone could tell he truly wasn't. "You don't move…you let me go…and I won't hurt the girl," he explained, backing down the alley with Tris still held tightly to him.

"Let the girl go first," Eric ordered.

"No, she's coming with me," Edgar hissed. "What she mean to you anyway, hmm? Is she your little slut? I must admit you have rather quite good taste…"

"SHE COMES WITH ME!" Edgar shouted, before quickly calming himself. "When I know you're not following me…then I'll release her…but right now, she comes with me."

"No," Eric whispered, shaking his head. "That's not how it works."

Tris gasped as she watched him take another step towards them.

"STOP RIGHT THERE OR I WILL SHOOT HER!"

Eric paused…and then took another step.

"I MEAN IT!"

Tris squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the hot tears pierce her skin as they ran down her face.

"Why not point that gun at me?" Eric reasoned. "Killing me will actually solve all your problems."

Tris' eyes flew open. Was he serious? Edgar stared at the Phantom in shock. Erik took another step closer.

"After all, it will answer that question of whether the Phantom of the Opera is truly a ghost…or a man." He took another step. "And think of the fame. The fame you'll receive as the man who killed the horrific Phantom." He took another step.

Edgar shook his head.

"This girl means something to you!" he accused. "What she mean to you, anyway? Is she your slut that warms the monster's bed every night? I must admit, Phantom, but you do rather have a good taste in whores… though she's a little too flat chested for my liking."

Tris blushed by how he spoke and demeaned, but she didn't let her eyes leave the Phantom's. Eric looked at her closely, trying to weigh on his options and on what to do. As he analyzed his options, he looked into her eyes and saw the panic and fear within the blueish gray orbs. He frowned and tilted his slightly, mentally cursing himself he was now truly looking at a time like this, but her fearful glance that she gave him now and back in his labyrinth struck a chord in his memory. He remembered a look such as this, but it came from a little girl who was fearful for his life when his master and tormentor discovered them together almost touching hands. It had been a brave little girl that he called his angel who dared showed him kindness when no one- not even his own parents- did when she saw his hideous face and tried to help him when his owner started to beat and abuse him once more before she took the blows for him. There were similarities between the little girl and woman who stood before him now: hair, eyes, and they shared the same name… even the same nickname.

'It's not possible… She couldn't possibly… this woman.' Eric's mind drifted back to hours earlier when the costume girl dauntlessly went down to save her father and offered herself to become his prisoner. She had the same presence, appearance, and demeanor as the little angel, and that thought alone almost gave him a double take and lose his poker face. He remembered, he remembered her. He tried to take a closer step, but his trance was broken when Edgar buried his gun further into Tris' temple.

"I SAID DON'T FUCKING TAKE ANOTHER STEP!" He snapped. Eric could see Tris was trying to plead with her eyes to make him stop before the former stagehand took the next step and shot her.

"I will ask you one last time," Eric hissed, his voice low and deadly. "Let her go before you regret it."

"Not a chance! She means something to you I know it!" Edgar accused again.

"Well she is amusing, after all you lost your job because of her." Eric smirked, trying bait Edgar and now let him that now this girl did somehow mean something to him… whatever it was now.

"SHUT UP!" Edgar shouted, now aiming the pistol at Eric.

And that was what he wanted. In a flash, Eric's foot stomped down on top of the handle of the sword in which he laid on the ground, causing the blade to leap in the air, and before Eric could react to what was happening, Eric gripped the sword and lashed out, cutting off Edgar's hand that held the pistol, the blood spewing out like a fountain and splattering Edgar in the face.

"OH MY GOD!" he screamed, falling to the mud and gripping his lifeless bleeding arm to his body. "OH MY GOD!"

Tris stared in shock at what had just happened, her own face and body splattered with Edgar's blood. She gasped when she saw Edgar's friends rise to their feet, each groaning in pain, each clutching the bleeding wounds on their bodies, but nothing they had compared to what Edgar was suffering. Eric turned immediately and lifted his sword at them.

"Leave now," he growled. "I'm not normally this forgiving…in fact I never am…so I advise you to take this rare opportunity, and run for your lives." he growled, before adding, "and don't bother coming back for your friend."

The two men didn't need to be told twice. They fled the ally with their tails between their legs, like the cowardly dogs that they were. Edgar was still wailing like a banshee on the ground. He reached out and grabbed his now dismembered hand, cradling it like a mother would cradle a baby. He removed the pistol from the now lifeless fingers, and gazed up at Eric in rage. Suddenly, his sobs turned to a cry of fury and he lifted the pistol to Eric's head.

"NO!" Tris screamed, grabbing Edgar's head and tugging hard on his hair, causing him to reel back, but it was too late. The pistol had fired its shot.

Eric whirled around at the sound of Tris' scream. When he saw what Edgar was doing, he wasted no time, took the sword and slashed at the former stagehand's throat, causing his life's blood to spill out over chest. The pistol had been fired, but the bullet did not make the contact it had intended. Tris quickly released the gurgling Edgar, stepping away as she watched him convulse and his life leave his body, till he lay still like a rock in the mud.

It was raining. Tris wasn't sure when it had started, but her hair was sticking to her face and she could feel what was left of her clothes clinging to her body like paper. She lifted her eyes then to the Phantom, not sure what to say or do, but gasped when she saw him fall to his knees before her.

"Oh my god, are you alright?!" she asked, going to his side in an instant. She caught him before he crumbled to the ground, her arm going around his broad shoulders, trying to prop him up as best she could.

His breathing was heavy, ragged almost. He was groaning in pain, and…blood. There was blood on the black linen shirt he wore. She had thought it was Edgar's blood, but no…it was coming from somewhere on him!

She pushed back his shirt, gasping in horror at finding the source of the blood. The bullet hadn't missed him like she had thought. Edgar was aiming at the Phantom's head, but instead, the bullet had hit him in the chest, just below the shoulder. Tris' clothes were soaked and caked with mud, they would do no good for a bandage. She then began to rip the sleeve off his shirt and pressed it against his chest.

"You need to hold this there," she instructed. "Please…you need to hold this over your wound…you…monsieur? Monsieur!"

His eyes had rolled back and he lay lifeless in her arms. She wasted no time but bent her head over his chest. Yes, she could still hear a heartbeat, although it was very faint. She had no idea where she would be able to find a doctor; she wasn't even sure where she was! No, the only option was to take him back to the Opera House. True, she knew she was free and could run away from this place and pretend nothing had happened…but she refused to lower herself to such selfishness. She would not let a man who had risked his life for hers die in the mud. She looked all around her and thanked the Lord when she spotted several barrels of garbage lying on top of an old wheelbarrow. She pushed the barrels away and then used what strength she could to lift the Phantom onto the wheelbarrow. After she was sure he was secure, she draped his torn cape across his body, then proceeded to move him out of the ally and back to the Opera House. She only prayed that she would find it before her rescuer perished.

* * *

 **R &R! **


	11. X: Plans

**What's this? Another new chapter this week? I have given you precious readers four chapters in a row? You bet I did! I hope everyone enjoys it!** **Oh! and just another word and thought!** **Is there anything you would like to what happens and want to see? I want this to be a story where my readers can interact and tell me what they want**

* * *

 _"But you would have lots of fun with me. For instance, I am the the greatest ventriloquist that ever lived, I am the first ventriloquist in the world!"_

 **-Gaston Leroux**

He was dead.

He had to be. He felt nothing; his body was lighter than air. All he could see was blackness, a thick blackness that enveloped his entire body.

And yet he could hear voices. Angels? No, he would never be in a place where there were angels. God had abandoned him long ago, and he wasn't sure if the devil would have him either.

Then he felt the pain. It shot through his body like lightening; a searing wrenching pain that caused him to hiss and groan in agony.

The voices that were mere murmurs came to a stop, then he heard the sound of feet shuffling around him and felt something cold touch his forehead. He was alive? Impossible! And yet his eyes began to flutter ever so softly and he could see the dim candlelight shining through the darkness.

Where was he? He heard one voice...a strange voice, a woman's voice, call out to someone. He felt a small soft hand touch his wrist, then move to his forehead to lift the cool object and brush it across his cheeks.

His cheeks! His face was exposed! His mask was gone!

Eric bolted upright to Tris' great surprise, his eyes wide and crazed, his muscles tense, and his right hand quickly moving to cover his exposed cheek.

"WHERE'S MY MASK?"

"Calm down, please-"

"WOMAN GIVE ME MY DAMN MASK! GIVE IT TO ME NOW!"

Tris stood her ground despite every fiber of her being telling her to flee. She had seen the wrath of this man, it was unlike anything she had ever experienced. He could kill her if he wished it, and she knew there was a delicate strand between sanity and madness with him. She was walking that strand and it was in danger of breaking.

"Please, you need to lie down, the bandage is still fresh, it could break-"

Eric released his scarred face and grasped her wrist in a powerful death-like grip.

"Give...me...my...mask!" he hissed between each word, his grey eyes a brewing winter storm, burning and chilling through her own.

He twisted her wrist ever so slightly to show her he meant business. Tris bit her lip in an attempt to show him she didn't feel the pain he was causing her. Reasoning was going to be impossible

"Will!" she called out. The man that was part machine and part human appeared from the other side of the room. He had retreated there when he heard Eric's angry command.

"Give your master his mask," she told him.

Will looked at Tris for a long moment then glanced at his master. A few hours ago Tris had stormed through one of the Opera House's secret entrances with Eric bleeding in a wheelbarrow. She announced what had happened and that he needed medical attention right away. However, calling for a doctor was out of the question, as Tris soon learned after Peter fled down one of the dark passages and Uriah calmed down from his panicking. She and the others had to take things into their own hands; remove the bullet, stitch up the wound, and somehow bring his fever down. To do this, his shirt and mask had to be removed.

"It's alright Will," Tris whispered.

Will shuffled forward and held the mask out to his master. Eric moved quickly, grabbing the mask and then shoving Will aside.

"NEVER ALLOW THIS TO HAPPEN AGAIN!" he roared at the trembling man.

"There's no need for that!" Tris shouted in Will's defense.

Eric turned to the girl, his eyes wide with shock at the tone of her voice. Who did she think she was? The little girl or not, she was his prisoner! She had no right to-

A burst of pain split through his chest and he found himself collapsing back against the plush Persian pillows on his bed.

"See? You need to calm yourself or you're going to make it worse!" Trus scolded, gently dabbing at the bandage which was beginning to seep blood again. "Will, find Marlene and tell her I need fresh bandages."

The clockwork man nodded his head and quickly shuffled his way out of the room.

Eric winced with pain and moved his hand to his chest. "What… what's happened to me?"

Tris bit her lip and gently brought a cool wet cloth to Eric's chest to dab at the blood. "You don't remember?"

Eric growled his frustration. "Now if I did, do you think I would be asking you such a question?" he barked, before hissing in a breath as the pain swept his chest again. "I...I remember you running away!" he groaned.

Tris ignored his sarcasm. "You were shot-"

"What?" Eric stared at Tris in disbelief. He had no memory of being shot! When did this happen? And then...slowly, like ripples in a pool, it came back to him. The men he fought in the alley, Edgar being one of them. He had the girl by the hair, threatening to kill her. He had a pistol, and Eric remembered "removing" the pistol from Edgar the only way he knew best. But everything after that...was darkness.

"He...he tried to kill you," Tris explained, gently dabbing at the wound. "He missed just barely."

Eric groaned as she dabbed at the blood. "Seems to me he was right on target."

"You're very lucky," Tris whispered. "The bullet didn't hit your lungs or your heart."

"Bravo to me," he muttered. "Perhaps it was not luck...simply the fact that the bastard is a very bad shot–FUCK!" he roared as she dabbed somewhat too roughly over his wound.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

Tris jumped at the change of his tone, however her feelings towards the Phantom had changed since he first took her prisoner. Oh she despised him still, that had not changed, but her fear of him had melted, and now she found that he was not the fearsome creature he pretended to be, simply a spoiled child who threw great tantrums when he did not have his way, be that with the opera itself, or anything.

"I'm trying to help you," she hissed at him, feeling her patience waste away.

"Help me?" he asked menacingly. "I do not recall asking for your help...and it rather feels like you're trying TO KILL ME!" He collapsed back against the pillows as the pain seared through his body, sucking in sharp breaths and gritting his teeth.

"You need to lie still!" she ordered. "You already broke the previous stitches, and I've never sewn flesh together before, so they aren't the strongest. Please, just lie still."

Eric watched her through narrow slits as he saw her prepare a needle, burning the tip in a candle flame before lacing thread through it.

"You will keep that thing away from me," he growled low and deep.

Tris was not intimated at all. "Hold still; the sooner you let me do this, the sooner it will be over and I can leave you in peace."

She moved to pierce the area of the wound, but Eric would have none of it. He was wriggling away from her like a child who didn't want his medicine, and when she finally was able to make contact, he gave a roar as he felt the needle prick his already painful wound.

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF ME!"

That was it; her patience was gone. He wanted a fight? He was going to get one. "Perhaps if you listened to me it wouldn't hurt!"

His eyes widened for a moment, shocked that not only had she raised her voice to him, but that she was not intimated by him at all.

"Need I remind you..." he growled. "That if you had not run away...this whole thing would not have happened?"

Tris' eyes went wide at his accusation. Was he truly blaming this whole ordeal on her?

"Perhaps if you hadn't thrown a chair at my head I wouldn't have run away!" she snapped.

"WELL YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE BEEN IN MY CHAMBERS, LET ALONE REMOVE MY MASK!"

"DO NOT BLAME ME FOR THAT! THIS WHOLE THING COULD HAVE BEEN TRULY AVOIDED IF YOU HADN'T TAKEN ME PRISONER!"

"I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN FORCED TO TAKE YOU PRISONER IF YOU HADN'T COME BELOW THE OPERA HOUSE IN THE FIRST PLACE!"

"I WOULDN'T HAVE COME DOWN BELOW THE OPERA IN THE FIRST PLACE IF YOU HADN'T TAKEN MY FATHER PRISONER!"

"Both of you stop it at once!"

Tris and Eric turned to see Marlene standing in the entryway of the bedchamber, holding a basket full of bandages and clean scraps of cloth. Uriah stood just behind her, hovering in the shadows, holding a large hand over his mouth to keep from making a sound. It appeared he was trying to stifle some giggles.

"Honestly, the two of you, behaving like children!" Marlene scolded, coming around Eric's bedside and handing the basket to Tris, who was now a deep shade of red. Eric simply laid there, sulking and trying to hold back his temper as he felt Marlene tut at him before proceeding to sew up the wound that Tris had begun.

"There," she said with satisfaction after she finished her work. "That wasn't so hard now, was it?" she asked her master. Eric didn't say a word, he simply frowned heavenward.

"I'll dress the wound," Tris whispered, removing a clean bandage from the basket. She glanced at Eric whose eyes continued to look elsewhere. What was he thinking? Was he embarrassed by this whole incident? After all, the infamous Phantom of the Opera now did not come across as frightening as he had before. Did he truly blame her for all this? Tris quickly shook her head, wondering why she found herself caring about such things.

Marlene's voice broke Tris' thoughts. "I'll make you some tea, Master, and perhaps some soup?"

"No, no tea and no soup!" Eric growled. "I'm not a damn child to be coddled! Just...get out, all of you..."

Marlene rolled her eyes and turned, tugging on Uriah's hand. Tris moved to finish the bandage, but Eric began to fidget beneath her small fingers.

"I told you I wanted to be left alone!" he grumbled.

"I'll leave you as soon as I'm finished with this," she whispered, gathering any patience she could find. Eric groaned and continued to sulk.

"Why?" he finally asked.

Tris was thrown by his question and looked at him, feeling extremely confused. "Why what?"

He groaned with exasperation. "Why are you doing this? Why did you bring me back here? If I recall, you had escaped, was that not your plan?" He didn't need an answer. He knew that was her intention.

"You were free, and after the...incident, shall we say, you were still free...yet you brought me back here; why? I don't understand and I demand an answer!" he growled, giving her the harshest glare that he could muster. Tris sighed and eased herself away from him, the wound now properly dressed with a new clean bandage.

"You saved my life," she whispered. "I was...simply returning the favor."

Eric was certainly not expecting that. Infuriating and stubborn the girl he had once called his angel had become, it appeared she still wished to help like she did all those years ago. His pride refusing to show that her words had stumped him, Eric rolled his eyes and made a sound of great disdain.

"Don't flatter yourself sweetheart," he scoffed. "I am no prince and this is no fairy tale; I merely pursued you because I can't take the risk of you telling others about my lair. If it were just me, I wouldn't care...but it's not just me, there are others that depend on me to keep them safe, and I will not have some...bullheaded and insolent American ruin our lives!"

His words did the trick; Eric could tell that the sting of his tongue had indeed affected the costume girl. Tears were beginning to shimmer in the recesses of her eyes, and for a brief moment, he felt the pangs of regret for what he had said. Somewhere, deep within his chest, he felt a pang squeeze at him and fill him with guilt. He shook his head, believing it to be his recent wound.

Tris refused to cry before him; she was not going to show him that he had any power over her, especially her emotions.

"I share your opinion sir," she said icily, giving him a hateful glare and lifting her chin in defiance.

"Believe me, I had no 'romantic notions' with your so-called rescue; you are far from being a prince, monsieur. And I could've taken care of myself," she spat.

"Hardly," Eric snorted derisively. Finally having enough, Tris rose to her feet and quickly turned on her heel to leave the chamber at once.

"Wait!" he shouted. Tris didn't know why, but she stopped, her back facing him.

"Explain to me why you felt the need to remove my mask...again," he muttered. "Did you want a better look at the monster beneath? You didn't receive a good enough look earlier?"

His tone was dripping with sarcasm, and while she did not turn to see him, she could picture a smirk on his face. If she could see it, she would march over to him and slap it right off.

"I had to remove your mask so I could tend to the fever that was raging," she explained. "I also wanted to tend to the gashes on your face when you forced… my hand to scratch at it to see if it was real."

There was silence again between them, and once again, Eric felt that odd feeling stir within him. He opened his mouth to say something, but her words took him by surprise.

"And the true reason I brought you back was the same reason in which you pursued me," she turned to face him, the same look of defiance that he had seen when she offered herself for her father's place.

"Your servants, if that is what they are to you, have been the only ones who have shown me any ounce of kindness or understanding since I've been brought here," she spat. "I know that they depend on you for their safety, and truly, it was them that filled my mind when I brought you back here."

That was a lie. Her words held some truth, she had thought of the Phantom's servants, if that was what they were to him. Yet they were not the only ones that filled her head when she was rushing him back to the Opera House.

Eric felt the feeling in his chest harden to ice at her words. He didn't know why he was upset, but he was. _Yes he did_ , his mind sang to him. Damn him, but he knew what was upsetting him. Then, another thought entered the front of his mind. Why didn't she recognize him? Surely with a face like his she couldn't forget? How could she? His demon head was the stuff of nightmares that would be a permanent stain on anyone's brain. He should've known that she would be like all the others.,

"Do not think about trying to escape again," he warned. "You were lucky last time that you weren't killed in one of my tunnels."

Tris lifted her chin once more before turning on her heel and leaving. "Say what you will...but I've already proven that no cage you create can hold me if I so wish it."

* * *

Tobias was rubbing the bridge of his nose, preparing himself as his carriage slowly pulled up to the Paris Opera House. This was the last place he wanted to be.

His head was still pounding from the previous night's antics, and he knew once he set foot inside the damn place he would hear nothing but complaints and worries. It was customary, the day after an opera, for the managers to beg their most powerful patron to come and talk about the previous evening. Truth be told, the previous evening from a theatrical standpoint, had been a disaster. Tobias was all too aware of this as several reviews in the morning paper did not feel the need to be tactful or kind. However, what did their reviews matter? The opening gala had been a success as far as he was concerned; the place had sold out, as were the next several operas. Besides, this was not the first time Jeanine had performed badly, and still the tickets sold.

No, he knew all too well what would be on the managers lips the second they saw him, and his blood boiled at the very thought...

...the damn Phantom of the Opera.

Tobias knew that people who worked in theater were a superstitious sort. He knew that before she performed, Jeanine had a ritual she had to go through in order to prepare herself, even if it meant delaying the curtain from going up. Many of these superstitions were welcomed by the Vicomte; it was one way to lure unsuspecting ballet and chorus girls into his bed. But this Phantom...of all the foolish things in the world to believe in...this Phantom irritated him beyond anything else.

For as long as Tobias could remember, there were notes that the supposed Phantom had written, full of demands and directions for how the Opera House should be run. They were a complete joke of course, but they infuriated the Vicomte de Sevoy like nothing else. Why? Because Tobias liked having complete control of everything in his life; his fortune, his women, and his business ventures. The Opera House was one of his largest business ventures, and he would see it reach a success that no one thought possible. And that success would be entirely his own.

The so-called Phantom of the Opera represented someone who was outside his control, a nemesis that threatened the control he had over the Palais Garnier. How dare anyone else attempt to have power over his theater! Tobias vowed that he would personally squash whoever was behind the mysterious "Phantom" notes like a roach beneath his boot.

"Monsieur Le Vicomte!" exclaimed both Max and David as Tobias entered their office. Just as he had suspected, they began to fill his ears with worries and concerns over the recent reviews in the morning papers, as well as inform him about the Phantom's threats and demands in their most recent letter.

Jeanine was there as well, with Edward by her side attempting to win the heart she did not possess. She was too angry by the morning reviews to even attempt flirting with him. Tobias knew that this would mean a much "longer" session in her dressing room in order to calm the vain prima donna down. What used to be pleasure was beginning to become a chore.

"AND THAT DAMN PIANIST! THIS IS ALL HIS FAULT! DID I NOT TELL YOU I NEED A CONCERT PIANO TO PLAY BESIDE ME DURING THAT PARTICULAR SOLO? IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO FOLLOW MY NOTES WITHOUT IT!" Jeanine screamed at the managers, who simply stared at her wide-eyed.

"He returned-"

"Madame, we tried to explain to you last night-"

"You two are idiots!" Edward snorted. "You run this theater do you not? You should have had a substitute at the very least for my beautiful-"

"Oh do shut up Edward!" Jeanine screeched.

Tobias olled his eyes and removed the note from David's hand and began to tear it up into little pieces, which caused the whole office to fall silent.

"D-d-do you think...t-t-that's wise monsieur?" David stammered, staring at the pieces of paper that fell to the floor.

"David," Tobias groaned, "how many times have I told you both that THERE IS NO PHANTOM!"

The two managers jumped from the Vicomte's sudden change of tone, which even surprised Tobias himself, who normally kept a cool facade in his business matters. He ran a hand through his dark hair, smoothing it back and appearing calm and collected as he normally did. "From now on...we are going to treat these letters as they should have always been treated...as empty threats."

Max paled at the Vicomte's words. "Empty threats? Monsieur, say what you will, but...well...strange things have occurred around here to...well...let us just say that it is not that difficult to believe that this place very well could be haunted-"

"Max," Tobias groaned, "I believe you are a little old to be terrified of ghost stories."

Max turned a dark shade of pink before shutting his mouth and keeping it that way. Tobias eyed both managers carefully to see that they would listen closely. "I want all letters by this supposed Phantom to be brought to me, and IGNORED, gentlemen, from now on."

"But-"

"IGNORED, gentlemen..." Tobias repeated once more. The two managers glanced at one another and slowly nodded their heads in reluctant agreement.

Jeanine rolled her eyes dramatically. "To hell with that! I need a new costume girl!"

Tobias' attention changed immediately.

"What do you mean, you need a new costume girl?" he demanded. Jeanine was shocked by his question at first, then pouted when she realized his sudden interest.

"That girl I had before? I fired her!" she couldn't help but smile in triumph, especially as she watched Tobias pale before her. _That should teach him_ , she thought.

"WHAT?" Tobias immediately calmed himself after taking a deep breath. Jeanine stared at him with both shock and disgust. She knew all along that he wanted the little chit for his own "amusement".

"Why did you fire her, my dear?" he knew he had to sweeten the lady. "Did she offend you my dear? Was she unkind to my star?"

That did some of the trick, for Jeanine began to melt somewhat to his words. However, she kept a wary eye.

"She struck me!" she pouted. "I have been able to cover up the bruise with powder, but...the ungrateful toad struck me! She is a violent little witch! I had to get rid of her!"

Tobias had to summon all the will power he could in order to not burst out laughing at the thought of someone, especially someone as small as the costume girl, hitting Jeanine hard enough that it would leave a bruise. That girl had done what he only dreamt about doing.

"Well you did the right thing," he reassured the soprano, although he wanted to ring her neck for letting the beauty escape him. He was going to have her, one way or another, he had never failed in any conquest.

"Tell me, where is the girl now?" he inquired. Jeanine, who was leaning against the Vicomte's chest and pretending to sob for the pains she had to go through in life, snapped her head up at Tobias' words. However, before she opened her mouth to let out an ear-splitting shout, he quickly added, "I think any person that dares harm a lovely hair on your beautiful golden head should be locked away! The girl is obviously mad, not to mention jealous of course," Tobias lied, smiling to himself at the success he was having on the prima donna.

"Max! David! How could you both hire such a hellion?" he angrily demanded. Both managers were at a loss for words, but that didn't matter, he was determined to carry on his charade long enough to discover the whereabouts of the delicious costume girl.

"I am going to pay a visit this very afternoon to her and demand that she not only apologizes to our dear star, but also send her to the nearest asylum, where she should have been all this time!"

Jeanine squealed happily and threw her arms around the handsome Vicomte. Edward snorted his disgust from a corner while David and Max exchanged weary glances.

"We...we do not know where Prior and his children live," they admitted. "You'll have to ask Madame Wu–she helped them find the flat."

Tobias groaned at the thought of approaching Tori with such a question, but it was the only way to learn where Tris was. He left the office then in pursuit of the ballet mistress, only discover her waiting for him just around the corner.

"Good morning monsieur," she greeted coldly.

"Madame Wu," he replied, just as coldly, with a slight nod of his head.

"I understand you wish to ask me a question?"

Tobias stared at the woman in disbelief. Had she been eavesdropping? Before he could say anything she was already answering his question. "You will not find her at the apartment she and her father and brother had occupied since coming to Paris. She is gone...most likely both she and her family have left Paris and are traveling back to America."

This was all a lie of course, Tori had no idea where Tris was. After the incident with Erik the night before, she raced to the Prior residence in hopes to find Tris, but the girl was nowhere to be found. She had told Tris to return home and wait for her, but the girl had not listened, or...

She did not want to think the alternative. Yet she was not going to reveal any of this to the Vicomte.

"I'm sorry monsieur, I'm afraid you...missed your opportunity."

Tobias scowled at the woman. Of all the people in this company, she was the one he despised most of all. Once upon a time he had considered making her charge one of his conquests, yet the woman proved to be a cobra waiting to snap; no woman, no matter how beautiful, was worth pursuing with such a warden.

"Thank you for your...information, madam," Tobias replied through clipped lips. He gave a small bow then turned on his heel, not bothering to say anything further to either the managers or Jeanine who were calling out to him as he walked out the doors of the Opera House.

He got into his carriage, barked for the driver to return him to his town house at once, and settled back for a long sulk. He wasn't entirely sure why, normally Tobias did not upset himself over a woman this much. Paris was filled with beautiful women, many who others had claimed to be utterly unattainable, but Tobias had proved those voices wrong. Nothing had stopped him from a conquest, nothing. And the ones that proved to be difficult were not worth his time, such as the ballet mistress' charge. But this girl...it was becoming an obsession almost.

No woman...had ever refused him. He began to grind his teeth at the memory of Mademoiselle Prior walking away from him after accusing him of grossly insulting her. The little wench! She should be grateful that a man like himself took notice of a penniless country-born ingrate on the verge of spinster-hood, like herself! No...he would have her, make no mistake about that. And he would have her, whether she came willingly to him or not.

The carriage pulled up to the Vicomte's fashionable town house, but his frown deepened when he saw a policeman waiting at the entrance.

"Beg your pardon Monsieur le Vicomte, but we have an urgent matter that we need to discuss with you right away."

Tobias' already deep frown deepened even more. He did not want his servants spreading idle gossip about, nor did he wish to give this man the proper time he apparently wished to have in Tobias' presence. So, Tobias stepped back inside his carriage and invited the inspector inside.

"What do you want inspector?" Tobias groaned, feeling a headache coming on.

"I am Chief Inspector Jack Kang, and last night, a man and his son covered in dirt and smelling like sewage, stormed into one of our posts and started screaming about a monster kidnapping his daughter."

Tobias' brow furrowed at the inspector's tale. This was sounding strangely familiar to him.

"Well, the man was obviously mad," Kang continued, "and we had no choice but to lock him and the boy away, at least for the night; after all, we could not have such lunatics roaming the streets and upsetting people!"

"Quite right," Tobias muttered. "I beg your pardon inspector, but do you mind explaining what any of this has to do with me?"

Kang sighed and nodded his head. "Well, you see monsieur, the men started raving that they had approached you last night! That they had gone into your club, and begged for your help! Then they started raving about how the father was an administrative assistant and the son a pianist for the Paris Palais Garnier Opera House, and that his daughter was a costume girl-"

"Costume girl?" Tobias interrupted. Now he remembered.

Andrew Prior. The man and his son Caleb that burst into his club last night after Tobias had already had several drinks, and hysterically started screaming about his daughter being kidnapped by the Phantom of the Opera. Utter nonsense of course...but it was a connection to the girl.

"Monsieur?" Tobias shook his head and came back to the present when he realized Kang was talking to him.

"Monsieur...do you know these men? Naturally I assumed they were simply crazed, but...our post received several complaints from that particular club about two homeless beggars upsetting several patrons, not to mention the owners. And...well, I just wanted to know, monsieur, if they were the same men, and if you wished to file any complaints of your own."

Tobias opened his mouth to speak, but then quickly closed it. A plan...a plan was brewing.

"You say...that they are in your custody at the moment?"

Kang's brow furrowed with confusion, but he nodded his head. "Yes, we still have them in our custody. Outside of disturbing the peace, they have committed no crime, however we plan to contact the nearest asylum and have them delivered-"

"No..." Tobias interrupted. "Do not send them away...just yet."

"But monsieur, we cannot hold them for a lengthy period of time, they belong in an asylum! The man and his son are clearly-"

"Insane? Yes, quite right," Tobias muttered. "But...truth be, I know those men, yes, I know them."

Kang's eyes widened in amazement. "You do monsieur? You know who they are?"

"I know of them," Tobias explained. "And...I know the man's daughter. Now, as you have obviously seen, the man and his boy are quite mad, and their precious girl has not been kidnapped by a monster...she is simply missing at the moment, nothing to worry about of course," Tobias quickly explained before Kang could respond to this piece of news.

"She is a fickle sort of girl...always scampering off with handsome men of large fortunes, no doubt hoping some man will see past her...disabilities, you know what I mean."

Kang simply snorted a reply.

"Now we can't have the old man and his son thrown into an asylum, at least not until the girl comes forward to claim them. However, we are unsure where she is...so allow me to offer my assistance in this matter."

Kang stared at the Vicomte with great confusion and uncertainty. "I beg your pardon monsieur?"

Tobias could only grin, a wicked grin for the plot he was setting up.

"I will find the girl, after all, she is attracted to single men of great wealth, it will only be a matter of time before she falls into my lap," he drawled. "And when I finally have her, I will then explain the horrid news of her mad father and brother, and that if she does not claim them, the dear police will have no alternative but to send them away."

"But monsieur-"

"AND, inspector," Tobias interceded. "I am prepared to make it worth your while..."

He snapped his fingers and the coachman appeared. "Tell my valet to contact my banker immediately...I wish to pay 150 franks in gold to the good Chief Inspector for his...pains."

The coachman nodded his head and went to deliver the message at once. Kang's mouth hung open in shock. "Monsieur Vicomte, I...I cannot possibly-"

"This is simply a deposit, of course," Tobias explained. "For every week that the men occupy your jail, I will pay another 100 francs in gold to you."

Kang was speechless. "And...then when you find the girl, you will bring her here...and if she refuses to claim them..."

"I will see to it personally, that they are delivered to the asylum."

Tobias grinned. Kang was sold, and the plot was sealed. Tris would have no choice but to play along if she wanted her father and brother back. Yes...she would prove to be a most...willing student to the art of lovemaking, if she truly wished to see her family again. It was all too perfect.

Kang stepped outside and bid farewell, leaving the pompous Vicomte de Sevoy to congratulate himself on a great victory.

"I informed your valet," the coachman announced after the inspector left. "He is writing a letter as we speak to your banker and plans to deliver it this very afternoon."

"Good," Tobias said with great satisfaction. "In fact, I feel like celebrating...the best kind of celebrating...take me to Madame Reyes', I think a few hours of cards, drink, and company, will turn this rather dull day into something memorable."

The coachman nodded his head and prepared to take the Vicomte to his favorite high-society brothel. However, before they set forth, the coachman, who knew his master extremely well and who had been listening to the entire conversation between the Vicomte and the inspector, asked, "begging your pardon monsieur, but...what if the girl does not respond as you hope? What...what if she truly has been kidnapped?"

Tobias rolled his eyes.

"She has not been kidnapped, especially from the so-called 'Phantom'," he groaned. "And she will come forth...oh she will...and when she does...I'll be waiting."

* * *

 **R &R!**


	12. XI: Stories

**.Sweet Good Lord this has got to be the longest chapter that I have written for this story yet! I hope that you all don't mind and thank you so much again for all of the kind feedback and patience! And truly I thank you on the patience because I know that it's frustrating to see Eric and Tris butting heads and not immediately bonding or becoming friends- lord even trying to get them to remember each other. Tis the downside of writing a slowburn. Well, at least Eric remembers Tris, but will she by the end of this chapter?**

 **We shall see...;3**

* * *

 _"I shall never forget him: a man. Locked in a cage. A prodigy, monsieur! Scholar, architect, musician! And an inventor too, boasted he had once built for the Shah of Persia, a maze of mirrors."_

 **-The Phantom of the Opera**

 _She was a vision; a vision in white with the sun gleaming behind her. He couldn't breathe; she was so beautiful._

 _She stood facing him, her face a blur, but the closer he came, the more he could see her face. It radiated light, warmth, beauty, and all the other things he yearned for but would never have. Her arms were stretched out to him, beckoning him to come to her. Her lips moved, but he could not hear her words._

 _He moved closer and closer, yet she still seemed far away. He gasped when the vision before him changed. The white flowing gown that she wore began to cling to her body...a beautiful delicious body from what he could tell; full breasts, round hips, luscious thighs...he wanted her unlike anything he had ever wanted before. The vision was changing; the light disappeared and was replaced by rain. The rain was the cause for her gown to cling to her beautiful body. He then noticed that it was not a gown she wore...but a thin slip and corset, which deliciously displayed the flesh beneath._

 _"My angel..." she whispered._

 _Angel? Him? Impossible, for in truth, she was the angel...yes, for nothing of this world could be so beautiful. But her smile disappeared; she began to shiver and her expression changed from one of happiness and desire to one of fear. Then her ear piercing scream filled his ears the same moment he heard the gun go off..._

Eric awoke with a start, gasping and drenched in sweat. He looked wildly around him, searching frantically for familiarity and realized that he was in his own bed. It had been a dream...simply a dream. A throbbing pain spread throughout his chest and he glanced down at the bandage. Now he remembered everything...

"Master?" he glanced up at the voice that came from the entryway of his bedchamber. Marlene emerged, holding a small tray in her tiny hands.

"Ah! I am pleased that you are awake!" she said with more cheerfulness than Eric could take. "I have brought you some soup to which I added a few herbs...special herbs that I believe will help with the pain."

He ignored her words and threw the blankets off. Marlene frowned at Eric's behavior. She gasped when she realized what he truly had in mind the second she saw him attempt to swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

"What do you think you're doing?" she gasped, rushing over to stop him.

"Get out of my way woman," he growled, hissing back the pain that was searing through him as he attempted to lean forward.

"Master, you are in no condition to be walking about!" Marlene scolded, attempting to stop him from going any further with her small figure. "Please, you must lie back and relax! It's the only way we can be sure that you'll heal properly!"

Despite the pain that he was feeling, Eric refused to listen. "I…am…not staying…in this bed!" he groaned between jabs of pain. His feet touched the floor, but his legs could not even begin to hold him and he toppled back onto the bed.

"GODDAMN IT!" he swore.

Marlene clucked her tongue and began to draw the blankets up to his chest again. "Master, you have no strength, you've been sleeping the whole day and have not eaten anything since the day before! You are in condition to be-"

"I KNOW VERY WELL WHAT MY CONDITION IS!" he roared, causing Marlene to practically topple over by the power of his voice. He regretted it instantly, as the pain split across his chest.

"Please," he groaned, "I…I have an opera to run…"

"All in good time," Marlene grumbled, tucking him back in. This time his only protests came from his mouth. She was grateful he was not attempting to rise again.

"No, I…I must see to things, be sure that…those idiot managers are…are not ruining my theater!" he groaned.

"First things first," Marlene said matter-of-factly, bringing the tray of soup she had brought to his bedside. "You need to eat in order to regain any strength."

"Later."

"No, now," she insisted with an edge of force to her voice. She was the smallest one out of all of them, but she was also a force to be reckoned with. "Come on Master, eat up."

She had taken the spoon and was leaning as close as she could with it to his mouth. Eric grumbled his disgust at her gesture.

"I can feed myself!" he snapped before snatching the spoon from her fingers. "I may have been shot, but there is nothing wrong with my head!"

Marlene rolled her eyes and hid the grin that was threatening to spread across her features as she watched Eric gobble down his soup like a greedy child, grumbling here and there while he ate. Yes, he would soon be back to his normal "charming" self.

"The herbs will help," she happily whispered. "I have a whole pot brewing, and I intend to have you drain every last drop."

Eric grimaced. "If I am to be confined to this bed for a lengthy period of time, I at least think I have the right to compose, don't agree?" he grumbled.

Marlene smiled slightly and went to fetch him some parchment and ink while he finished his soup.

"There you are Master…and do not fret so, in a few days you'll be as good as new," she added warmly, pleased that he had drained the bowl as she had hoped. "I'll fetch you another bowl at once."

Eric said nothing; he simply put on a sulk. Marlene knew he was grateful for the soup and for the healing herbs especially, but she also knew that when Eric was in a mood, cordiality was the last thing to expect. He watched the doll woman turn to leave, and then called out to her before she was gone.

"Where's the girl?"

Marlene paused, her back still to Eric. "You mean Tris? Actually her real name is Beatrice-"

"Yes, yes, I know that is her name…this is my theater, is it not? Though I did not realize we were now calling her Tris now," he muttered. "I know more about her than you may have thought…" _I know she's the little girl who gave me her gloves and tried to help me,_ His mind whispered to him, but Eric shrugged the thought away, preferring to not deal with that newfound information at the moment. "I know that she's the daughter of the former prima donna Natalie Prior, I know that she's from the United States, I know that she's rather handy with a needle and thread-"

"Did you know that she has dreams of singing?" Marlene interrupted, turning to face him. Eric rolled his eyes.

"Not really surprised with who her mother was, but all ladies who come to the Palais Garnier believe themselves to be great singers…and many of them are not, as we have good proof," he growled, thinking about how much he wanted to strangle Jeanine Matthews. "Now, answer my question, where is she?"

"She's with Will, Lynn, and Uriah in the northwest cavern near the chasm," Marlene explained. Eric simply snorted to the news, however his body seemed to relax somewhat. Marlene nibbled her lip.

"I…I've been meaning to ask you Master…what shall we do with her?"

The relaxation was gone. Eric's brow furrowed at the question. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Marlene placed the tray back down and came back to his bedside. "It seems that…that well…Tris will be with us for…quite some time, would you not agree?" He didn't say anything, simply stared right back at Marlene, his expression dark and exasperated. "What I mean to say is…I do not think the costume cages are…suitable shall we say, to a young lady…would you not agree…master?"

She didn't dare look up into his eyes, she could feel them burning through her.

"And did you have any…suggestions, Marlene?" he asked, his voice dark and dangerously low. His whole world was being turned upside down from one girl.

"Well, as a matter of fact, I…that is, myself, Will, Lynn, and Uriah, thought…perhaps she could stay in our quarters? We have beds, and…well, I'm sure we can find something suitable for her around here, if not above in the dressing rooms-"

"No," Eric said, his voice dark and unreadable. Marlene was surprised by his quick dismissal of her idea.

"Master…you can't…you can't expect her to simply be locked away! She won't run away again, at least…I don't believe she will, besides, she's injured-"

Eric's eyes went wide at Marlene's news.

"What?" he asked, sitting up a little too fast and groaning as he felt the pain hit him like a stone. "What do you mean injured? How?"

"Oh, not badly Master," Marlene quickly explained, although she was surprised by his reaction. He still did not relax. "Her leg was cut, that's all, but I was able to tend it, nothing more than a scratch I assure you."

Eric relaxed somewhat, however the concern that was written across his face did not disappear so easily.

"I am glad that you have helped her," he whispered, not meeting Marlene's questioning gaze. "And…when I said 'no' earlier, I had not yet finished to what I meant…"

For the life of him he had no idea why he was about to say what he was about to say. "I do not want her sleeping in the same quarters that you all share…I…I think it would be easier on her…as well as for everyone else if…if she is given her own place," his voice was practically a whisper when he had finished. Marlene however had heard every single word.

"You…you want us to prepare her… a room?" she asked, making extra sure she was hearing him correctly.

Eric gritted his teeth. "Don't make me repeat myself…I think the southeast cavern would be a good place…it's close to the lagoon, and it's small, but warm and dry. I think that would be a very suitable place for her."

Marlene found herself smiling with pride at his words. "I agree…I shall tell the others to begin searching for bedding right away-"

"Wait," Eric interrupted. "I know exactly what I want you to fetch for her…"

Marlene's mouth went wide when she read the thought in Eric's eyes. "Oh, but Master, do you think that's wise?"

A wicked grin was beginning to spread across his face.

"Oh yes, I think that will do very nicely," he leaned back against the pillows of his bed feeling much better. "I think I will have another bowl of soup, Marlene," he said, sounding extremely peculiar. Marlene realized what it was; he sounded somewhat happy.

* * *

"This one's my favorite!" Uriah cried out happily as he shuffled over to Tris with the book in his hand. Tris smiled up at him and took the book to have a look at the title.

" _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_?" she read. "Oh yes! Marlene told me you loved this story…"

She looked at Uriah with a warm smile and wondered how on earth she could have screamed in his face earlier. He wasn't fearsome looking at all to be honest. He was large, hunched over, and his face was baggy-looking, but…he wasn't frightening to say the least. And as she sat there with both him, Lynn, and Will…she realized just how much more "human" they were than most people she had encountered in her life above.

Uriah plopped himself down right next to Tris, who was sitting on a blanket on the cavern floor, grinning as she opened the book.

"Have you read it?" he asked excitedly.

Tris smiled at him. "I know of the book, but I'm afraid to admit I have never read it."

"It's wonderful!" he exclaimed! "There's a hunchback bell ringer, he lives in the bell ttower high above Paris…and a beautiful gypsy girl…she falls in love with him!"

Tris' smile faded somewhat. While she had never read the book, she knew that was not how the story went. Truth be, the hunchback died and Esmeralda fell in love with a handsome man. However, she had a feeling that Will had "altered" certain parts of the story for him.

"It sounds lovely," Tris whispered, feeling that she would enjoy Uriah's version much more than Hugo's. Will and Lynn gave her relieved looks for going along with the story. "Perhaps one day you can read it to me?"

Uriaj blushed.

"I…I can only read a little," he confessed, looking down at his overly large hands. "But Will is teaching me!"

Tris looked over her shoulder at the man that was part machine, clockwork, and man, who was sitting on a rock, as an ape would, with a small worn leather-bound book in his hands.

"Will reads a lot of science, religious, and medical books," Uriah explained. "He was r-r-raised in a m-m-m-mon…m-m-mon…"

"Monastery," Will finished. Tris' look of surprise gave him cause to smile.

"I never knew my parents," he explained. "They died after I was born and no one would take me in, so I was left on the local monastery's doorstep. I actually didn't look like this, you know-"

"You didn't?!" Tris exclaimed, but instantly regretted her outburst and glanced at the book in her lap." "Well… what I mean is…"

"It's alright to ask," Will told her earnestly. "I was working at a steel factory a couple of years back and I was badly injured when my shirt got caught into a working machine and pulled inside… I nearly died too… When some other workers pulled me they thought I was done for, but there was a doctor in the factory that was dabbling in science and automaton work, and well… long story short I became few of the first half human and half automaton to survive operation. There weren't a lot of people who accepted however. It wasn't natural, they said- they believed it was beyond God's work and it was the work of the devil."

Tris' bit her lip at the revelation.

"I…I'm so sorry," she whispered. She couldn't imagine what it may have felt like to once live a normal life and then all of sudden be treated like a freak of nature. Will, however, continued smiling.

"Oh don't be, I have no regrets," he stated quite sincerely. "In fact, I don't blame God for what happened to me and I thank him for my upbringing, truly. The monks that took me in were very kind, and it was through them that I received a wonderful education. Even after the accident, they treated like the same Will I was before the accident; I do not know if my parents could have done that. And through their kind and charitable example, I have discovered the depths of my faith and believe that I am not an abomination of the human race."

"Pfft, he ain't all saintly like he cracks up to be. He's rather enchanted with a certain dancer in the ballet corps," Lynn wiggled her brow mischievously as she and Tris watched Will's cheeks turned a deep shape of scarlet. "If I called recall right, she's that little light brown skinned girl with the short hair and has the promising career as a prima ballerina-"

"Christina?" Tris exclaimed. She wasn't appalled, but the newfound information was rather startling and rather, well, sweet. She didn't think Will and the others were allowed to venture up surface at all.

"Oh yeah, He's mad for her!" Lynn snorted in a laugh. "Whenever the Master's not here, Will will go up above and hide in the rafters just to see her dance. He'll draw her portraits, write her love letters and poems that he's never going to send-"

"S-shut up! Mind your own business!" Will grumbled, and proceeded to continue reading the passage he was just on, but also to hide his heating flushed face. Tris didn't think it was possible for someone who was half human and half machine to blush such shades of bright scarlet and deep crimson. Tris found herself smiling over Will's words of humanity and his apparent "crush" on Madame Wu's charge, and turned to Lynn.

"What about you, Lynn… that is if you don't mind me asking-"

"You really wanna know about me, Stiff? Lynn smiled sardonically, picking up on her master's new name for the girl. "It ain't a pretty tale. Let me put it like this: I came from one of the worst slums in Paris. My ma' was a prostitute and when she found out she was pregnant she was expecting twins." Lynn gave a sharp laugh. "Guess she wasn't expecting her twins to end up becoming on person- I was told that she let out a scream of holy terror when she saw that her -baby was born with male and female parts. Don't believe me? Here I'll show you-"

"N-no it's okay! I believe you! You don't need to!" Tris exclaimed and motioned her hands to Lynn. Lynn simply shrugged her coat back on and sat back down. Tris breathed and gave a sigh of relief. "How then did you come to be here?"

"We were in a carnival!" Uriah exclaimed. "But the Master, he-"

"Uri!" Will and Lynn hissed, quickly quieting the hunchback who bit his lip, realizing that he was telling too much. Tris had paled at Uriah's first words; a carnival. Had they…were they all on display? A surge of anger shot through her as she imagined poor Uriah with his sweet and mischievous nature being forced to show off his body for the wealthy upper classes, Will with all his great intelligence, Lynn with her devil may care attitude and bravery, being reduced to an animal for the viewing pleasure of others. Truly…they were not the freaks of this world. Tris frowned as a muddled vision came to her. It appeared of two young children- one who looked emaciated and behind bars with a bag over his head, and a sad little girl who was reaching her hand out to him…

"Still here, I see," came a low grumble from the shadows. Tris glanced up to see Peter emerge from the darkness and felt a cold chill run down her spine. Of all the Phantom's servants, he was the one that still frightened her. Marlene, Will, and Uriah had shown nothing but kindness to her. Lynn was still distant and appeared to not like here, but she managed to be cordial when it was needed, but Peter…Peter wanted nothing to do with her, and he was making it extremely plain.

"I w-was showing her my f-f-favorite books!" Uriah exclaimed happily, pointing at a pile that was on the ground next to Tris. After tending to Eric, Marlene encouraged Uriah to take Tris to the northwest cavern, the place that she soon learned was where they all slept. Compared to the Phantom's chambers, it was extremely humble…but it held a warm inviting glow that oddly enough reminded her of home back in Chicago. Like the Phantom's chambers, the cavern had plush Persian rugs that aligned its floors, and pieces of beautiful cloth that hung from its walls. In the center of the room, was a small fire pit with a kettle boiling over a healthy fire. There were four beds, each as different as the four seasons of the year. Will and Lynn's beds were hammocks of deep green cloth that hung between two tall skinny boulders. Uriah's was a boat, with all the seats removed, replaced by blankets and pillows. Naturally it was the only thing that could fit his great size. Peter's bed seemed to be a pile of mattresses and blankets thrusted back in a dark corner; fitting for him, she thought. Finally, Marlene's bed actually looked like a bed one would find in a house. Each corner was also marked by the distinct personalities of each person. Uriah had pictures of animals and piles of books near his bed, whereas Will had a small pile of books, and an old wooden cross near his. Lynn had letters, newspapers, magazines, technical books, and inventions strewn everywhere over her desk, Marlene had a spinning wheel beside her place, with several yards of fabric, and Peter…Peter's space was bare; a mystery to enhance his already dark persona.

Yes, out of all of them, Peter still caused her blood to run cold. Unlike the others, Peter's deformity was not one he was born with. He was tall, but skinny. His hair hung limply from his head, and had a young cherubic face. He wore a tattered black hat and tattered trousers. He wore no shirt, because his chest, arms, shoulders, and back, were covered, every inch, with tattoos and piercings. Tris flinched when she saw his body, imagining the pain he must feel. True, she had learned from Uriah in her little time there that Peter rarely wore a shirt due to the sensitivity of his skin. Why would anyone do anything like that to oneself? She would never understand…and she could not see herself having the courage to ask Peter why.

Perhaps the most frightening thing about Peter was his left hand…or lack thereof. Peter's left hand was gone…replaced with a rusty iron mechanical hand that looked as if someone long ago and shoved the metal contraption into his skin. Indeed, skin from his arm seemed to be growing along the edges of the metal hand; she had to look away for fear that she would be sick. Peter snorted in disgust to Uriah's exuberance over showing Tris his book collection.

"Isn't it time that she's placed back in her cage?" he asked Will.

"Well…"

"Piss off, Peter!" Lynn snapped, surprising Tris. "Marlene already gave the word and said that she's staying here with us."

"Isn't that great?" Uriah cried gleefully.

Peter paled at Uriah and Lynn's words. "WHAT!"

Tris flinched to Peter's bark. She wasn't entirely thrilled with sleeping in the same place with him either, but the cavern was much warmer than the cage she had originally been placed in.

Peter looked at Tris with coldness and growled, "Why can't the Master simply kill her like all the others?"

Tris paled at his words, which was the exact reaction he was seeking. He couldn't help but chuckle evilly. Will and Lynn however sent Peter a look full of warning, to which the man with the metal hand swore, before stalking off to his pile of mattresses and collapsing on top of the heap.

"Don't mind Peter," Will said to Tris just loud enough that Peter could hear. "He's always in a foul mood, that's his true deformity."

"At least I don't believe in absolute rubbish, Nose!" Peter hissed from his dark corner.

"My faith is not rubbish!" Will snapped. "How dare you-"

"I see that childish behavior is running rampant this evening," Marlene grumbled as she entered the cavern. Will sent Peter one angrier look before turning away. Peter simply grinned to himself before placing his tattered hat over his eyes.

"How's the Master?" Will asked, lowering himself with his great arms down to cavern floor.

"Still bright and sunny as ever?" Lynn said sarcastically. Will snorted in laughter, causing Marlene both Will and Lynn a disapproving look.

"Much better, although I had to stop him from getting up," she groaned, sitting herself down on the edge of her own bed. "The Master is too concerned with the Opera House than with his own health," she muttered, rubbing her tired aching feet.

"The only way to get him to stay was bring him parchment and ink so he could compose," she rolled her eyes. "If I hear one note coming from that organ, I swear, I will steal his parchment back!"

"Really Marl, you're dealing with an overgrown child," Lynn muttered as she swung herself into her hammock. Marlene sighed and resigned herself to agree.

"At times yes, I think I do," She sighed.

Tris had her legs tucked under her chin while she listened to Marlene's complaints about the Phantom. How curious, she thought. Had it only been a little over twenty-four hours that she had believed the infamous opera ghost was a myth? In her brief time there she had learned he was indeed a man; a scarred man, a frightening man, but…a man with a family of sorts, a man with a love for music.

She remembered the night before when she had been hiding in his chambers and saw him play at his organ with more passion than she had ever seen anyone exhibit over music. Her blood went warm at the memory of watching his large skilled callous fingers fly over the organ keys; he pounded his spirit upon them, and yet there was also a strange gentleness he displayed with the instrument.

"Tris?" Tris blushed and looked up from her perch on the floor, realizing that Marlene was talking to her.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You seem…distant."

Tris could feel her cheeks burning pink. "I was…just…well, I-"

"Thinking about your family?" Marlene asked, her eyes filling with sympathy for the girl.

Her father. Tris wondered what had become of him. She had vowed to take his place for the Phantom in return for his life to be spared. Had that happened? Had the Phantom truly set her father free? Or had it all been a trick? A vicious trick to lure her into his trap while keeping her father prisoner in a different area of the Phantom's underground lair, or worse, killing him? After all, it was Peter, a man who had no toleration for outsiders, who had been ordered to remove her father…even if the Phantom ordered him to set the man free, would Peter have done that?

"It'll be alright," Marlene murmured, reaching out and patting Tris' shoulder with a reassuring touch. Tris smiled at the pat and knew that her father was free and alive; if he wasn't, she knew that she would have learned from Marlene and the others the truth. Yet she still worried for him…especially as she thought of the sadness he was enduring at the moment over losing her. As angry as she had been with Caleb for what he had done, she hoped that her father and brother found each other and would at least had one another.

"Alright you four! Peter! Lynn! Will! Uriah! I will be in need of some assistance from you," Marlene commanded. Peter grumbled his protest to which Marlene immediately ignored.

"Come on! Let's go, we need to fetch some things for Mademoiselle Prior," she instructed. Tris looked at Marlene with confusion while Peter's silent protest became quite loud.

"Are you kidding me!? I am not doing anything for her!" he growled. "Let her sleep in that bloody cage; that was the Master's original orders-"

"The Master has changed his mind," Marlene said in a clippred demanding tone, cutting Peter's protests off immediately. The man with the metal arm stared at Marlene, his eyes and mouth wide with shock. "The Master has ordered that we fetch some things from above for Mademoiselle Prior, so that we may create suitable living quarters for her-"

"SUITABLE LIVING QUARTERS?" Peter exclaimed. "YOU MEAN HE INTENDS FOR HER TO STAY? WITH US!"

"Yes!" Marlene shouted back, her patience waning greatly. When Tris brought Eric back after the accident, Peter disappeared, wailing that a mob would be down in seconds after the whole lot of them, that the Master was going to die, and they would all starve to death, depending if the mob came for them. His panicking upset Uriah immensely, and when they needed help to care for the Master, he was nowhere to be found. Now Peter was proving to be more of a nuisance as far as Marlene was concerned, with his complaints towards Tris and his ill temper with everyone else.

"The Master has instructed that we create a living space for Mademoiselle Prior in the southeastern cavern near the lagoon, and that we begin immediately," she shot a look at Peter. "If you don't like it, then go to the Master and inform him of your complaint."

Peter said nothing; he simply pushed past the ragdoll woman out the cavern entrance. Tris chewed on her lip as she watched the man with the metal arm stalk out. True, she found him frightening, and the idea of a place away from him sounded pleasing, however, making him hate her even more was the last thing she wanted.

"I…I don't want to be a burden, and I fear that I am," she whispered.

"Nonsense," Will muttered. "Peter is bent on making everyone's lives miserable when he's unhappy…give him time and he'll come around…he… he can be a good person." Tris looked at Will and found herself feeling reassured by his confidence. It seemed to her that Will found the good in every person.

"Good person? More like he's bearable to be around when he's not an insufferable asshole." Lynn snarked. Will just sighed dramatically and shook his head, causing Tris to smile despite herself.

"Come on, we need to fetch these things at once," Marlene clapped her hands. She then turned to Tris. "You'll have to sleep with us tonight, but I promise you, by tomorrow, you will have your own chamber," she said with a smile.

Tris smiled back, however she felt that this was all happening so fast. One night she was a prisoner in a cage…the next night, she was a guest who would be receiving her own private quarters! Had something happened to change the Phantom so? Perhaps he was taking pity on her for saving his life…however, if he truly pitied her, he could release her. She sighed, knowing that if he did release her from his captivity, she would not go, at least…not until she knew he would be alright.

"Marlene, you have had a trying day, why don't you stay and rest?" Will offered.

"Oh, I couldn't possibly-"

"It's alright Marlene," Uriah reassured her. "We'll find items fit for a princess!" he grinned at Tris and blushed slightly when she smiled back.

Marlene opened her mouth to protest, but did not say a word. She had been on her feet all day and evening, keeping watch with Tris over Eric's recovery. He had slept most of the day after they had finished stitching up his wound, yet she remained close by, waiting for him to awake so he could get some food in his system.

"I won't argue," she admitted. "My feet are hurting quite badly."

"Then you stay and we shall fetch the items the Master wishes us to find," Will smiled. "And if he is instructing us to go above…then…well, there is only one place I can conceive that the Master would insist upon…"

Marlene could only grin. "You would not be wrong."

Will nodded his head and lead Lynn and Uriah out of the cavern. Peter, who had appeared to have stalked off, was truly waiting for them outside the cavern, and his voice filled with complaints when he saw them emerge.

"About damn time!" he groaned. Tris watched as her new friends left both her and Marlene behind in the small cavern.

"Can I get you anything?" Tris asked, as the doll woman climbed into her bed. "Some tea perhaps? I could boil some over the fire for you, it would be no trouble."

"Thank you. You are very kind, but I am fine," Marlene smiled at Tris' offer. She then pointed to a small pile of mattresses and rags nearby.

"I'm afraid that was the best I could do at the moment for a temporary bed," she sighed. "I'm sorry, but it will be for only one night."

Tris smiled back. "It will be far warmer and softer than the floor of that cage."

Marlene smiled faintly at Tris' words, but frowned as well. "I'm sorry you had to endure that…I can understand why that experience, as well as being parted with your father…and all the stories I'm sure you've heard above, would have tainted your view of the Master."

Tris was wiping dust off the blankets of her bed while Marlene spoke. She paused and chewed on her lip some more. "I will not deny that…I found your Master to be a bit of a…"

"A monster?"

Tris looked down at her feet. "I'm sorry, I-"

Marlene clucked her tongue. "It's okay. Nothing to apologize for, that is the image the Master wishes to express. However, I never truly believed him capable of monstrous behavior till I saw him take you prisoner and order you to be placed in that cage," she grumbled coldly. "I know that may sound strange…after all, those stories that you've heard of the Master killing intruders…they are not pure acts of fiction."

Tris felt her blood run cold. She knew she shouldn't be surprised by such news, after all, her father was trapped and it seemed the Phantom had every indication of murdering him. So why was she affected so? Why did it bother her to think of him as a villain?

"The stories are greatly exaggerated, however," Marlene clarified. "I know that the stagehands and ballet girls make it sound like masses of people have come below and have lost their lives at the Phantom's wrath…but if that were the truth, do you think that they would not have stormed down here seeking the murderer?"

Marlene did have a point, Tris could not argue that.

"Truth is, only a handful of men have ventured below and have lost their lives; these caverns and tunnels have been carefully booby trapped to stop any trespasser. Most of the traps are simply designed to scare people away, or perhaps cause a minor injury, nothing serious. However, some are designed to do more…" she shuddered. "The Master is more than simply a musical genius, he is an illusionist and an inventor as well, and has designed some of the most elaborate contraptions you have ever seen!" She found herself smiling with pride as she told Tris the tale. Then her smile faded once again to a frown. "However, I…I know that does not excuse the Master for what some of his contraptions have done…"

Tris agreed with Marlene; nothing could excuse murder, however…after getting to know the people who lived below with the Phantom…she began to understand why such precautions were being made. "Forgive me…I understand if this is something you do not wish to discuss, and I will not raise it again-"

"You wish to know how we came to be here?" Marlene asked, her eyes shining with understanding. "It's not every day for someone to see a host of freaks living below the Opera House, so it doesn't bother me if you ask."

Tris blushed deeply. "It's just…Uriah started to tell me something about a carnival…but Will and Lynn quickly shushed him."

Marlene sighed, before waving her hand for Tris to come closer. She immediately obeyed, picking up one of the blankets she had dusted and drawing it over to Marlene's bedside.

"Well…what Uriah was going to tell you is true…there was a carnival…and that was how we all knew each other." Tris looked down at her hands which were clasped tightly together.

"Was it…a…a freak show?" she whispered, not caring for the word at all.

Marlene nodded her head. "Unlike the others, I was not kept in a cage constantly. Because of how my body bends and moves about, I was a contortionist for shows and… I was more of a servant really when I wasn't performing. The owners had me move about, fetching things for them, giving them food and drink, picking pockets off the viewers when they were looking upon the others," she muttered in disgust. "And at night… at night I would be sent to one of the owner's rooms and I would… I would pleasure and entertain them, and let them have their way with me. It wasn't because I wanted to… but it was because they could and I couldn't do a thing about it.

"After the owners would have their way with me they caged me with Uriah, because he would cry in the dark. I was the only one who could keep him calm," she smiled softly at the memory. "I care about him very much."

Tris smiled at Marlene's tender words about Uriah, but felt her anger kindle at the people who had treated and abused Marlene and the others like animals.

"Besides myself, Peter had been there the longest," Marlene continued to explain. "He was not born like that, as I'm sure you could guess. No, he was their first 'freak' put on display. They did that to his body…I remember hearing his cries of anguish whenever they placed a new tattoo or piercing on him," she shuddered as the memories flooded her. "But even after they the mutilated his body, they still were not satisfied. So they burnt his hand off his arm-"

Tris gasped. "They burnt his hand off him?"

Marlene sadly nodded her head. "Yes…and before the wound had time to heal, they rammed that horrid metal hand into his flesh…" she whispered. "To this day, I can still remember the screams…and the blood, oh God, there was so much blood."

Tris felt her stomach churn at the thought. All her thoughts towards Peter had now changed; she could completely understand why he disliked her and she didn't blame him. She represented the world that had turned his body into a perversion. No, she did not blame him for his suspicions in regards to her at all.

"Will's life was not nearly as harsh," Marlene continued.

"Yes…he told me that he was raised in a monastery," Tris explained. Marlene nodded her head.

"Yes, he was very fortunate," she sighed. "The monks were good to him, they gave him food, warmth, love, and an education," her expression changed suddenly. "However, the Father who was head of the monastery died, and a new one came to take his place. This man saw Will as an abomination, God's punishment for the sinful ways of human nature," she sighed sadly. "He sold Will to the carnival…I remember that day very clearly. He became known as the 'Automaton Frankenstein', and was forced to perform stunts for the wealthy," she forced a smile, although it was sad. "Still amazes me how despite all that, he is able to find the good in everyone…" She sighed again, her small fingers playing with the ends of her blanket.

"Lynn was found working along the coasts along Honfleur. Due to her appearance and disguising herself as a man she was able to find employment at the seaport and docks." Marlene let out a sad sigh. "But then her landlord that was coming to collect rent barged in her room, and discovered in bed with… a woman and saw her body. Lynn never had a chance to escape before the landlord kicked her out and the villagers handed her over to the carnival. And Uriah…poor Uri…"

Tris sniffed back the tears that were already threatening to descend. She was not sure if she could bear hearing Uriah's sad tale.

"Uriah came to us as an infant along with his older brother, Zeke. Their mother…" she paused for a second to collect herself. "His mother was a gypsy, barely sixteen if I remember correctly. She had been raped and did not wish to keep the babe, especially after seeing his deformed figure. But his brother refused to leave him. The carnival offered a handsome price for both the children, so without second thought, she sold Zeke for manual work and Uriah to their display," she looked up at Tris, her own eyes reflecting the tears that mirrored the young woman's. "Ironic, is it not? Uriah dreams of meeting a gypsy girl one day…and his own mother, a gypsy girl, sold him off."

"What… what happened to his brother?" Tris whispered brokenly. "Why isn't he here with him?"

"Zeke fiercely loved and protected his brother. But he had a temper, and there was an incident when Uriah was three and he was needed to perform," Marlene explained, several tears already glistening in her eyes. "A comte and his son… a vile and horrible pair they were… had come to watch the show, and the comte's son was so "delighted" by Uriah that he demanded his father to buy him as a playmate and whipping boy." The ragdoll-like woman tried to steady her breathing. "Zeke would have none of it and attacked the comte and his son to rescue his brother, but… one of the owners shot Zeke in cold blood to stop the commotion in front of Uriah… needless to say Uriah remained with us but… he wasn't the same after Zeke died."

Tris wiped her eyes, her heart breaking for Uriah as she remembered him telling her his version of Victor Hugo's novel. She smiled through the tears at the memory of him calling her "gypsy girl", but more tears came at the thought of his mother selling him to a side show freak carnival. Uriah had a brother who loved and cared for him only to have him ripped away because of his cruel owners and a spoiled child.

"Those were very hard years for us," Marlene whispered, wiping her own eyes. "But…thank God, the Master came to be with us…and helped us escape."

Tris sat forward at the mention of the Phantom. "Was he…in the carnival as well?"

"Oh yes, he became a star attraction for them," Marlene explained. "He was the last to join. You see, the carnival traveled all across Europe, and I remember being in the east…Romania, Bulgaria…we may have even been in Turkey! But wherever we were, there was a Persian caravan that passed us by while we were in Venice."

"Persian?" Tris exclaimed, surprise etched across her face.

"Oh yes," Marlene nodded. "Little is known of the Master's origins, whether he was born in Persia, or if one of his parents was Persian, but he was in their caravan and when he saw us and our retinue, he sold himself to the carnival. It was rather strange… why he would ever do such a thing... it was as if he knew about our carnival and our owners."

Tris imagined the Phantom, the fierce dark figure that he was, exposed to the ridicule of others in a freak show. Her heart swelled with pity for him, and…. Something else that she couldn't describe.

"How old was he?" she asked.

"He was a boy, 15, perhaps 16?" she sighed. "They called him the 'half man'; one side of his face looks like that of any other man's…but the other…" she shivered slightly. "Well, you have seen him without the mask."

Indeed, she had…and yet Tris remembered the second time she saw his face and not fearing it…rather finding it fascinating. Yet as she continued to look at his unmasked face, she began to felt that she had seen it before… even before she had unmasked him. Just the way the ridges and ugly harsh red whelps appear to give him pain, the look of fear and panic when he was unmasked… where had she seen it before? She blushed at the thought as Marlene continued her story. "They used to open the curtain to his cage, exposing only the unscarred side of his face. They then would ask one of the young ladies to come forward to the cage and pucker her lips for a kiss."

She could've sworn she had heard about some type of carnival show like this before… but why couldn't she remember?! She knew she shouldn't have because there was no way her parents would've allowed for her and Caleb to see such a horrific and cruel display. But still she knew she had been somewhere where such an event had occurred, she just couldn't place where and why. Tris felt her insides churn again at the thought. Of all the cruel things to do to someone; her sickness turned to rage.

"Then, after the girl finished giggling and had her lips puckered for a kiss, they would tell the Master to turn and face the young lady head on, exposing his scars," she trembled again. "They would turn and scream and blubber about, agitating the Master and forcing him to attempt at kissing the already screaming girl," she shook her head. "Sometimes he refused to turn and face the audience, so the carnival owners would lash him in front of everyone…" she wrapped her arms around herself as if seeking comfort. "It was horrible, those years in that place."

Finally ignoring whatever feelings of familiarity, Tris' fists were tight round balls of rage. "Monsters…they were the real monsters."

"I agree," Marlene sighed, settling herself back in her tiny bed. "But we did escape, as you can see," she smiled. "We owe that to the Master, actually."

Tris looked up at Marlene with curious eyes. "He helped you all?"

"Oh yes, it was his idea actually… rather it had been his plan to let himself be sold to the carnival he told us afterl," she smiled. "One night, the watchman was very drunk and the Master saw the opportunity. I was already in my cage and witnessed the whole thing from it. You see, he started to insult the watchman, calling him names and throwing pebbles at him that children had thrown at the Master earlier that day."

"Charming," Tris muttered.

"Well, the watchman, who had the keys around his belt, got irritated and threatened that he would come into the Master's cage and beat him within an inch of his life. Of course the Master continued his insults," Marlene grinned.

Tris was leaning close, her head resting in on top of her hands, her body leaning against the bed. "Then what happened?"

Marlene's grin spread further. "Well, as he promised, the watchman grabbed the whip that was normally used when any of us 'acted up', and proceeded to enter the Master's cage with every intention of beating him."

Tris was holding her breath, anticipating Marlene's every word. "Once he entered the cage, the Master then lashed out, kicking the watchman hard in the groin, before slamming his head against the bars of the cage."

"And no one heard it?" Tris asked in amazement.

Marlene shook her head. "They were all drinking in their little hut, singing loudly and very off key. Even if the watchman had cried out for help, they wouldn't have heard it."

"So then what happened?"

"Well, the Master got hold of the keys, and immediately set about releasing us. There were others," Marlene explained, "but they chose to go their own way…to this day I don't know what became of them," she sighed sadly. "But Uriah, Lynn, Will, Peter, and I…we all chose to follow the Master. We were just making our way to Sicily, so we took our chances and wandered into the city. To our great astonishment, the Master had led us to his old Persian caravan! Peter believed the Master had betrayed us and were doomed, but the Master told him otherwise. The leader of the caravan, a dark-skinned Moor who was the Master's friend from Persia, would help us leave. We all gathered on a boat and set sail for Persia, where the Master obtained work as the court magician, and personal engineer for the Persian Shah."

Tris was amazed by the whole tale. "Then how did you get to Paris? How long…how long have been down here?" she asked, amazed that no one else had discovered their secret.

"Trouble for the master arose within the Persian court because of the Shah and his mother, causing him to be a target. The Moor was able to help all of us to escape Persia, but we never saw him again. After we escaped, the Master dictated we would make our way to Paris. At that time, the Opera House was being completed, so the Master thought we would be safe hiding there. We found some stairs that led down…and heard water below…so we followed the sound, and…discovered this," she finished, holding her arms out to the cavern. "We believe that it was part of the underground catacombs used in the middle ages."

Marlene counted softly in her head. "The Master was eighteen or nineteen when we escaped so…just over ten years I believe."

Ten years. No one, till now, knew of their secret which had been kept well for over ten years.

"Amazing…" she whispered. "And…he saved all of you?"

Marlene smiled proudly. "He could have run and saved his own skin, but…not Eric. He's a good man, truly he is."

"Eric…" Tris whispered. The Phantom had a name. A name that was spinning around in her head as she repeated it to herself and was projecting itself into a blurred image, then suddenly slowly starting to clear.

"Now, you need your rest," Marlene shushed, breaking Tris' train of thought and causing the name's mental image to dissipate before it fully formed itself better.. "Climb into bed and get some sleep…tomorrow you'll have a new place all your own."

Tris wanted to smile to Marlene's words, but her thoughts were elsewhere. She missed her father and brother and was worried about them; yet she was also grateful for the new friends she had just made. And then there was the Phantom.

Eric. The name suited him. She wondered how he came to it. Was it given to him by his captives? Or did his mother give him the name before something happened to her? Did she sell him? Or did a tragic accident occur, causing him to be ripped from his family? Why did his name, his face, and past unnerved her so much? So many questions were still waiting to be unveiled, but one thing was now understood: this place, this world, was his to protect. These people were not his servants, they were his family–yet they felt obligated to treat him as their master for the salvation he had given them. Yes, despite his harsh behavior to her, Tris could see the good man that hid within the shadows of his persona.

"Goodnight Marlene," she whispered to the blonde haired woman as she burrowed under the soft blankets of her temporary sleeping place. She wondered about her captor, wondered about the sudden change in his attitude for wanting to give her a place of her own, instead of throwing her back in the cage. Perhaps it was just pity he felt for her…but she couldn't help the feeling that she wanted it to be more. Friendship perhaps? What was that familiar feeling? Surely that was all it was…wasn't it? Tris blushed at the thought and told herself to go to sleep.

* * *

Jeanine's screams filled the Opera House's walls, causing Edward and the managers to come running to her side.

"Jeanine! My beloved, my English Rose, what is it? What's wrong?" Edward cried, finding his prima donna standing aghast in the doorway of her dressing room.

"WHAT HAS HAPPENED?" she screamed. The managers arrived just then, huffing from their sprint and peered inside to see what had caused the soprano to be so upset.

"Good God," Max gasped. The dressing room was in shambles. The dressing table, the chaise lounge, all the elegant furniture was gone, leaving only several gaudy dresses and tangled wigs here and there.

"What happened, Madame?" Jeanine turned on the managers and released her fury.

"DO YOU THINK I WOULD BE ASKING YOU IF I KNEW?!" she began screaming and crying as she threw a tantrum in her destroyed dressing room that made a misbehaved toddler look like an angel. She stormed past them, nearly knocking them to the ground. "I HATE THIS PLACE!"

Somewhere, far below Jeanine's dressing, someone was grinning at the harpy's screams.

"I really must do that more often," Eric chuckled.

* * *

 **Damn it... so Tris isn't there yet, but it's progess... ish. Lol! Thank you again for reading and remember to review!**


	13. XII: Bargain

**.Sweet Good Lord I feel like this was my least favorite chapter to write! I hope that you all don't mind and thank you so much again for all of the kind feedback and patience! And truly I thank you on the patience because I know that it's frustrating to see Eric and Tris butting heads and not immediately bonding or becoming friends- lord even trying to get them to remember each other. Tis the downside of writing a slowburn. Well, at least Eric remembers Tris, but will she by the end of this chapter?**

 **We shall see...;3**

* * *

 _"And the angel of music sings songs in my head."_

 **-The Phantom of the Opera**

 _"Tris…"_

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of her name. Tris lifted her head, looking around her, remembering once again that she was not in the apartment she and her family occupied, but beneath the Opera House. The cavern was dark save for a few orange embers that glowed from the hearth in the center. Who had spoken to her? All she could hear now were the soft snores of her new friends. And then she heard it again…

 _"Tris…"_

She rose from the bed, a blanket wrapped tightly about her body. The voice seemed to be coming from beyond the cavern.

 _"Tris…come to me…"_

The voice was hypnotic. Low and deep, rich and soft. A whisper; yet loud and clear. She felt like a ship at sea, and the voice was her beacon guiding her to safe harbor. Or, it could be that of a siren, luring her to her death. Either way, she was under its power and could not turn away.

"I am coming…" she called back, following the voice through the darkness of the tunnels.

The voice was replaced by music. Music she had heard before in her dreams; soft and sad, yet so beautiful and passionate. She continued her unknown journey, her feet carrying her as if she were as light as air.

 _"Sing for me, my angel…"_

Tris opened her mouth willingly to the request. Was it a request? The voice was soft and sweet, yet the words seemed commanding. She opened her mouth, yet no sound came out.

 _"Please sing for me…I long to hear your voice mingle with my music…"_

Her skin tingled in the most wonderful way. She felt something within her begin to burn, begin to come alive. The music rose higher in its passion, and as it did so, she felt her blood rise with it, the heat of her body climax with each note.

The blanket fell away, like a puddle at her bare feet. She wore a sheer gown, its material touching her like a thousand silken fingers. Funny, she did not remember putting such a gown on.

 _"Yes my angel…come to me…sing for me…stay with me…"_

Tris opened her mouth again, willing her voice, forcing it almost, to obey the other's commands. She wanted to please her ghost, her angel of music who was playing for her and her alone.

 _"How I long to hear you sing…"_

Tris attempted again, but her voice stopped in a gasp as she felt something touch her. A hand? She gasped again as she felt the hand, strong and large, spread over her stomach…and then move down, slowly, running along the length of her thigh.

 _"Your body was meant for singing…"_ the voice whispered. She gasped for she could hear it in her ear. She felt a hand touch her throat, the long strong fingers spread across her neck and then move downward…further and further.

She held her breath.

 _"I shall teach you to sing…a very, very special kind of song…"_ the voice promised, as a silky tongue darted out to taste her earlobe, and the fingers on her thigh moved between her legs and the one on her chest moved to cup her breast.

 _"Oh Tris…Tris…"_

"Tris!"

Tris awoke with a start, her face flushed, her brow covered with beads of sweat, the blankets sticking to her body. She gasped and shook her head, looking around and trying to comprehend what had happened.

A dream. It had all been a dream, and standing near her bed, looking extremely exuberant, was Uriah who was practically hopping up and down.

"Come and see!" he exclaimed excited, his large hands grasping hers and pulling her out of bed.

Tris squealed, blushing and thinking she was wearing the silken sheer gown as she had in her dream, but she soon realized that instead, she was still wearing her drab grey dress from the previous day. No wonder her body felt stiff.

"Uriah!" Marlene scolded. "Put her down at once!"

Tris realized that her feet weren't touching the ground. She was so concerned about her state of dress that she hadn't realized. Uriah looked ashamed and quickly put her down, turning a bright shade of red and shrinking his large size into a small ball.

"Sorry Tris," he muttered, scuffing his feet and looking sad.

Tris smiled and patted Uriah's bulky face, to which he grinned, although she herself was disappointed by being interrupted from her erotic dream. Or perhaps she was more disappointed that it had turned out to only be a dream. Who was her mysterious angel? It was not the first time she had had such a dream; however, this one was much more…realistic.

"Come and see!" Uriah cried again, gently tugging on her hands to follow. His gentle tug was truly a good hard pull, but he was trying.

Marlene rolled her eyes and shook her head. "He won't be satisfied till you follow him…I'll make you some breakfast while you're looking."

Tris was so confused. Looking? Looking at what? What had gotten into Uriah? He grinned and tugged on her arm to follow him, which she had no choice but to follow, as his tugs were quite insistent.

He led her through the dark tunnels and passages of the underground labyrinth with ease. Some tunnels were pitch black, yet Uriah navigated the two of them without any problem. Everything looked the same as it had the night before…how did they know when it was morning and when it was evening? She was not sure if she could stand living a life underground, but then she reminded herself that her new friends had little choice.

Some of the tunnels looked oddly familiar…like the tunnels of her dream. She tried to remember the route he was taking her, but after a while, every passage looked no different than the previous one. Tris wondered how far they were going, as it seemed they had been walking–running practically, for Uriah's steps kept getting wider and wider–for quite some time.

"Almost there!" Uriah said happily, pulling on her arms a little more. Tris continued following, curious to see what it was that had him in such a state. She was surprised when Uriah suddenly stopped in front of her, causing Tris to run into his large frame.

"There…" he pointed towards a small glittering light that was coming through a sliver in the cavern wall. Tris looked around him, her gaze following the direction his finger was pointing. She saw the soft golden glow that was softly illuminating a nearby rock. She realized that the glow as coming from just beyond the rock. What was it? Her first thoughts were that it was the light of morning, streaming through a crack in the cave's ceiling. But as she slowly approached the light, with Uriah's instance, she realized that it was artificial, and not the sun.

"Go on!" he encouraged, grinning from ear to ear. Tris nodded her head at Uriah, slowly going towards the glow, wondering what lay beyond the rocks that blocked her initial eyesight. She realized that the rocks were not hiding the light, they were simply in front of it. She did not have to remove them; she simply had to go around them. She side stepped to her right and went beyond the rocks, finding a small entrance into a cavern. The glow was growing brighter…and her curiosity was growing wilder. The entrance was small, but not to the point where she had to bend down, as she initially thought she would have to do. She gasped when she saw a lacy white curtain covering the "doorway" to the cavern. How did this get here? It was beautiful to be sure, but…where did it come from? Tris pushed the curtain aside…and her breath stopped.

The cavern was small, no bigger than some of the dressing rooms that the chorus girls occupied above, but it was adorned in the most exquisite state she had ever seen. Before her was a rich scarlet rug, unbelievably soft, which stretched to the far reaches of the tiny cavern's floor. In one corner was a beautiful mahogany dressing table, adorned in brightly colored bottles of perfume, cream, and soap. The scent of lavender and rose petals filled her nostrils, reminding Tris of the rose bushes she and her family kept back at their old Chicago home. The dressing table had a pristine mirror which reflected the elegant area she was standing in. There were several beautiful works of art that hung from the cavern walls, and several stone pedestals that held crystal vases filled with all sorts of colorful flowers. To the left of the dressing table was a scarlet chaise-lounge, which had a lovely lace throw adorned across it. She heard the soft trickling of water and glanced to her left and gasped. A tiny waterfall trickled from the ceiling down to a small pound that was at the bottom of a tiny slope. Before the slope there was a mahogany table with two chairs, each with the same scarlet cushions as the chaise-lounge. A single pink rose in a slender crystal vase adorned the table. Light glittered off the falling water and Tris' eyes followed it to see where the light came from. Several large beautiful crystal oil lamps hung from silver hooks on the cavern's walls, yet they were not causing the odd glittering glow. No, the glow was coming from what the light of the oil lamps were bouncing off, which was a small beautiful crystal chandelier that seemed to sparkle with diamonds, hanging from the center of the ceiling. And then, in the very middle of the room, was a bed. It was not small, but not overly large. Two people could sleep on it if they wished, but they would have to be pressed very close together. Tris found herself blushing at the thought. The bed was four posters, and was covered with lace curtains that were held back by white ribbons. The sheets looked as if they were made of silk, and the blanket that covered it was a deep velvet scarlet, same as the other furniture. Needless to say, the cavern took her breath away.

"And just in time for breakfast!" came a merry voice. Tris whirled around to see Marlene smiling as she held a small silver tray, adorned with eggs, bacon, several kinds of sweet cakes, and a cup of tea.

"Here you are… I'm afraid we were not able to build you a fireplace just yet. Do not worry, all in good time you will have one," she smiled.

Tris was flabbergasted. She could not find her voice. Her eyes were wide with amazement. This…this was hers?

"Marlene…" she murmured looking around her, not knowing where to start.

"Do you like it?" Uriah asked nervously. He wanted to make sure she loved it. He had worked very hard with the others the previous night to make sure it was perfect.

"Like it," Tris whispered. "I…I don't know what to say?"

Uriah's face fell at her words.

"It's the most beautiful room I have ever seen!" she exclaimed. His face instantly broke into a large smile.

"I…I don't know where to begin! Where did this all come from?" Tris whirled her body around the room, taking in everything she was seeing. Marlene and Uriah smiled at one another.

"I…I just…I don't know what to say…" she whispered, feeling happy tears form in her eyes. "But…I cannot accept this…this is too kind, why…it's fit for royalty! And I'm just a seamtress… well, I was-"

"The Master will be upset if you don't take it," Uriah quickly interrupted. "Please say you will stay?"

Tris was moved by Uriah's words, not knowing that when he made his simple request, he was asking her more than simply accepting the room.

"Uriah…" she looked at Marlene then as well. "Thank you both…and please thank Will, Lynn, and Peter for me as well! I can only imagine how tired you must all be," she whispered, wiping her eyes and giggling as she remembered that both Will, Peter, and Lynn were all snoring in their beds when Rudolph roused her.

"We are not the ones who deserve the thanks," Marlene simply stated. "This was all the Master's doing. He merely directed us to fetch the furniture. He designed the room himself."

Tris stared wide-eyed at Marlene as though she were expecting the blonde dolllike woman to say otherwise.

"The Phant–I mean, Eric…he did this?" she could not believe it.

"Yes," Marlene sighed. "Despite how I told him to stay in bed, he insisted on being here while the others brought the furniture. At least he didn't attempt to move it himself," she thanked heaven for some small favors.

"He was present with directing where things should go and designing the whole space," she explained, before taking Tris' hand and leading her towards the table by the small waterfall. "Now, come along and eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

* * *

Was this another dream?

Tris gazed at the lace that covered the top of the bed, relishing in the soft sheets that she lay upon. The previous night had been alright, but it wasn't the best sleep she had received. The mattresses she was given for a bed were old with springs that popped here and there. She had tossed and turned throughout the night and her back ached somewhat. But now, as she laid upon her new bed…oh she had never felt anything softer, as if she were laying on a cloud.

She truly did feel like a princess. She had never seen anything finer. Not even from the grand and elegant hotel rooms where she and her family would occupy when her mother was still alive and performing. And yet…she did not feel deserving of this extravagant gift. Were the others content? Why was she given luxury when they continued to sleep in their present quarters? Were they happy with what they had, or would they begin to envy her? Was it right for her to have such luxuries? After all, she was a prisoner. And then there was the Phantom…

"Eric," she whispered the name again. His name was both mysterious and beautiful. Ever since Marlene had told her the story of how they all had come to be there, she could not stop thinking about him. Despite his dark mood and cruel exterior…she had learned that he was caring and devoted to those he felt responsible for. They all called him "Master", and had adopted the understanding of being servants for him; that was her first prejudice towards him. Tris knew of several wealthy families back in Chicago. They were all snobby and arrogant, commanding servants to do whatever they wished, even if the command was humiliating. She would know. The family of her father, who snubbed him after marrying a poor singer and who still refused to acknowledged them after said poor singer became wealthy and famous, taught Tris how far people were willing to go to view others as equals…and it wasn't that far.

Yet the Phantom…was different. He was the equal of the others; he too lived in that horrid place and suffered the same humiliating cruel acts that they had faced. And when the time came for his escape, he could have easily left without anyone else. But he released the others, and in return for their freedom, they wished to serve him with whatever he needed. And it did not end there either, for he cared for them, provided them food, clothing, shelter, and whatever else they wished. While this underground labyrinth was amazing with all its secret treasures…Tris had a feeling that many of the things that were there, such as Marlene'ss yards of fabric for her sewing and Uriah's book collection, came from the Phantom himself. And this entire room…where it had come from, she did not know…but he, as she was reminded many times by the others, had wished for her to have it, and was present with the organization of it.

Why had he changed? Was it not one day ago that they were blaming each other for one another's troubles and throwing insults back and forth? Did he feel pity for her? Was this his way of showing thanks for her bringing him back and helping to save his life? Whatever it was, she needed to thank him. Oh she could envision it now, she thought with a wry grin. Yes, she could see herself strolling into his elaborate chambers, and thanking him for the beautiful room and all that he had done, and then receiving scoffing remarks and sarcastic laughter. No, the Phantom did not strike her as a man who would listen to compliments and gratitude.

…and yet she still felt the need to go to him and somehow thank him, even if it was simply seeing his face again.

His face. Funny, she thought. The first time she saw him without his mask, she was terrified. Never had she seen anything more horrific in her whole life. But when she reflected on the situation the second time she removed his mask to place a cool cloth on his cheeks and forehead to ward off the fever, she discovered she truly was not terrified…but intrigued. She concluded that what startled her initially was the way he suddenly turned around after he felt the mask being removed. It was the rage that she saw etched across his face, as well as the odd duality; one side was "normal" while the other…wasn't.

But when she looked at him again without the mask…her eyes studied his scars, and her fingers lightly played over them while he slept. The scars were hard, and had a somewhat leathery texture. She could feel the bones of his nose and right cheekbone, which had skin covering them, but no muscle tissue. The bag of flesh that hung slightly over his right eye was hard as well, despite looking somewhat squishy. How he came by these scars she did not know…but the more she studied them, the less afraid she felt. She studied his until was imprinted on her memory, feeling still as though it was a face from a long time ago… but how could that be? She gazed upon the other side of his face, the side that looked like that of any workman's. It was not handsome, at least not by fashionable society's standards, but then, when was she considered fashionable? It was rugged in texture with a soft tan to his skin and perhaps a little shade of brown. She remembered how Marlene mentioned that one theory of Eric's origins was that he was from Persia. Perhaps that explained the skin tone? His face was not slender, but with a strong set jaw. The cheekbones were not high, but they were sleek, offering a more rounded look. His eyes however…that was where she remembered her breath being stolen.

Eric had the eyes of a wolf; large and grey. In the shadows they looked silver–a soft and light shade of grey with flecks of blue. But when the light shown on his face, and when his eyes went wide with shock or surprise, they turned a silver color, one that drew her into its depths and made her feel like drowning. His gaze held a look of cold defiance, confidence, and superiority, but if Tris looked closer, she thought she could see a hint of pain. And like his face, the eyes were familiar… as though she were looking at a long forgotten memory that she knew nothing about.

And his voice. It was not silken, but rough and deeper, richer…more like the scarlet velvet that adorned her bed. Soft, yet textured; dangerous, yet warm but could chill anyone in an instant.

He was also very strong, as she remembered when he appeared in the ally. She recalled his body bent over the organ when she had been hiding. She could only see his back, but he had removed his hooded overcoat and she could see the hard bulky muscles moving under his linen shirt. His shoulders were massive, wide and strong, designed to carry heavy burdens…and she had a feeling they had, although not all his burdens were physical. His arms were strong too, the black mazelike ink glistening in the candlelight, and she remembered the way those arms had fought those three men in that ally, throwing heavy punches and sending those men who were larger in scale across the ally. His hands were obviously larger than hers. When she was tending to him, she placed her hand over his at one point, and was intrigued by how her small fingers would lose themselves in his massive palm. They were nowhere near as big as Uriah's hands, but she knew that if they touched her face, the tips of his fingers would be at her brow and the edge of his palm would be near her throat.

His bulkiness did not hinder his gracefulness, another wolf-like quality. The way he moved when he was fighting was like a dance of sorts. And when she watched him play at his organ, she saw the graceful way his fingers played over the keys, despite the passionate fury his very soul was screaming. Her blood grew hot at the memory. She had been mesmerized by his playing, his music as well as his very being calling out to her like a siren. Was his music the one she heard in her dream? Was it his voice she had heard? She blushed deeply and sat up. She had been laying on her back and yet she had felt dizzy.

The gothic romances her mother had read to her were full of dark suspense, mystery, a little gore here and there, and plenty of ghostly passion. She remembered how as a child she thought the notion of ghosts was quite romantic, and she even felt that way upon her first arrival to the Paris Opera House. Her feelings on such things had changed, however. No longer did she find such ideas fascinating or romantic, but frightening and childish. Yet now…for the first time since her first day in Paris, Tris found herself once again believing in ghostly romance and gothic fantasy. Even though she knew what lay beneath his mask…she could not help but be lost in the mystery of it.

"I'm such an idot," her practical side scolded. "He said so himself. This is no fairy tale and he is no prince…he is my kidnapper. He may be kind to those who suffer the same way he suffers, but that means I'm his enemy and will always be such in his eyes."

So why did these thoughts upset her?

She had to see him; that was the only way to put an end to these silly feelings that were awakening her body to unknown sensations…as well as her heart.

One insult would be all that she needed to remind her silly heart what was her true situation. She could go to him, thank him for his gift, and then allow him to ridicule her for being so foolish as to come to him and think such things. Yes, she would do that, that way she would do the right thing by thanking him…and be reminded of her real situation, that she was prisoner and this beautiful room was her new cage.

So why was her heart breaking at the thought?

"Damn it Tris," she grumbled, rising to her feet and taking one of the oil lamps off the wall and using it as a guide to carry her through the darkened tunnels. "You truly are an idiot!"

Yet her personal insults quickly came to a stop and were replaced by surprise as she found herself going down unknown tunnels, and yet feeling as if they were leading her in the right direction. She had never seen these tunnels before, yet she felt as if she knew them…

Lo and behold, in a matter of minutes, Tris found herself standing just inside the first chamber that belonged to the Phantom. She looked again at the beautiful mighty pipe organ that seemed to be embedded in the rock. By closing her eyes, she could see him sitting at it and playing passionately as she had seen him do only two nights ago.

She shook her head and told herself to continue onward, that she had come here for a purpose.

Quietly, she tipped-toed towards the second chamber, the one in which he slept, and so softly, peered through the shadows to see if he was conscious. Instead, she was greeted by the soft even sound of his breathing, and saw him sleeping, looking utterly exhausted. Tris couldn't help but grin at the sight of him. He wore the mask (she had a feeling he rarely took it off) and on his stomach lay sheets of parchment, while in one hand he held a pen and in the other, an inkwell. He looked so peaceful, but she reminded herself that a lion looks just as peaceful before pouncing on its prey.

She knew she should leave him be, but she found herself drawn to him, even in his sleeping state. She quietly approached the side of his bed, and carefully, so as not to wake him, removed the inkwell and pen from his hands. She placed the two items next to the bed on a small table, and then she proceeded to pick up the paper that was scattered across the bed. He made a sound which caused her to jump somewhat, but she noticed that he was still sleeping quite peacefully. She blew out the single candle that was lit by his bedside, and took the parchment into the next room, leaving the slumbering Phantom in peace.

Tris placed the parchment on top of a beautiful piano that sat near the pipe organ. She would come back later or perhaps tomorrow and thank him then. But something on the parchment caught her eye and drew Tris back. It was a song, one that looked as if it had been freshly written.

She recalled the score she had discovered those two nights ago with the words _Don Juan Triumphant_ written at the top. From her knowledge of the operas that she knew existed and the ones where her mother had performed in, she was not familiar with an opera by that title. Like that score sheet, this song also contained the words _Don Juan Triumphant_ written in small letters in the upper right-hand corner. The title of the song was "Point of No Return". Tris felt a shiver run down her spine.

The song was a duet, sung by the main figure, Don Juan, and a girl by the name of Aminta. She found herself blushing as she read the first few lines, realizing that it was a love song of sorts…yet the lyrics were extremely erotic, as Don Juan attempts to seduce Aminta. The music was odd as well. One minute, the notes were moving to a graceful slow rhythm, and the next, they changed dramatically to a thunderous exclamation. Without realizing it, she found herself humming softly to the melody…and then, as her eyes reached Aminta's part, she discovered herself singing the role.

 _"You have brought me  
to that moment where words run dry,  
to that moment where speech disappears  
into silence,  
silence…"_

She took a breath and continued on, her voice growing a little more confident as the music began to flow through her, casting its spell upon her soul.

 _"I have come here,  
hardly knowing the reason why…  
in my mind,  
I've already imagined  
our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent–  
and now I am here with you:  
no second thoughts,  
I've decided,  
decided…"_

"What are you doing?"

Tris gasped and whirled around, her hands gripping the piano to keep herself from fainting with shock.

She had been caught. There he stood, towering over her as she remembered the first time she met him. His shirt was gone. All he wore were a pair of crumpled black suit trousers and his mask. He stood in the entrance between the two chambers, his shoulders easily touching both sides of the entry, filling it like a door. Even in her frightened state, Tris could not help but look at his tattooed arms and neck, his bare chest and take in the body she saw before her very eyes. And yet everything in her being told her to run, to get out of there, that she had been meddling in private things and now she was going to pay dearly. She couldn't look into his eyes, she feared what she would find.

So instead, she turned on her heel and darted towards the entrance that led out into the dark tunnels just beyond. This was his lair, nothing could stop him from pursuing her, but right now she wasn't thinking practically, simply following what her instincts told her to do which was run.

"Stop!"

Why, she did not know, but Tris turned her head to look over her shoulder at his thunderous voice, only to find that he wasn't there…but had somehow moved in front of her. She gasped and stared up at him, as he was literally only a breath away from her body. How was that possible for someone to move so quickly?

"I…I was…" she swallowed the lump in her throat. "I'm sorry, I only…that is, I only came to…to thank you for the room, and…you were asleep, so I thought…I simply thought that…I only intended…" she was backing away from him and gasped when she discovered she was back against the piano. He was slowly stalking towards her.

"I didn't mean to pry, I'm sorry, I just…I didn't do any harm, I didn't mean any harm, I…I…" she had nowhere else to go, her back was against the piano and he was still stalking forward. She felt like shrinking, and then, she stopped babbling when she felt his finger reach out and touch her lips.

"Be quiet…" he whispered. His voice was not filled with anger…but…fascination. She was instantly quiet in that moment, and she slowly lifted her lashes to gaze up into those molten eyes that were watching her with such intensity.

"I'm going to ask you a question," he murmured, his finger still against her lips. "And I want you to answer me truthfully, nothing else." He paused to see if she understood.

"How…when…" he swore softly to himself, for he discovered he too was stumbling over his own words. "

Who taught you how to read music?" he softly demanded, yet with great gentleness.

Tris locked eyes with him once more, and read the earnestness in them for his need to know the answer. Slowly he removed his finger from her lips and waited, while she took a deep breath.

"My mother taught me," she whispered, her eyes not leaving his. "She would play music to me and my brother on our old piano whenever she didn't have a performance or tour…and I learned how to read it by singing sitting beside her while she played."

"Interesting…" Eric whispered. It was then that he realized how close he was to her, and he quickly took one step back, providing a little more space between them. "And…how did you learn to sing?"

Tris looked confused by the question. How did she learn to sing? Her mother had died before she could give her daughter a proper voice lesson. Some people, when they found themselves in the water, could swim like fish. Others could climb rocks and trees as if gravity itself did not apply to them. For her, singing was like breathing; it was just something she could do and had always been able to do.

"No one taught me. My mother died before she could," she whispered. "I…I just can."

His eyes changed, from amazed to scrupulous. He studied her for a long hard moment. He was a connoisseur of music, he knew how to play a variety of instruments, knew all the masterworks by the great composers, and had written several symphonies, cantatas, requiems, marches, and operas, and yet he did it all by thorough and meticulous study. He was born with a gift, but it was gift that did not come so easily, no matter how hard he tried to will it.

But this girl…this strange but curious girl from his childhood that he expected to have been taught by her prima donna mother… was it possible for one to have such God-given talent? Only one way to find out…

"Sing this for me," he demanded, finding a song from his opera and slamming it down on the piano.

"What?" Tris looked confused and felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She felt as if someone were setting a trap for her.

"Sing this now!" he demanded again, moving to the piano bench and playing the first few cords of the song. He looked up at her, wanting to scream for her to obey and do as he had said, but he stopped himself and saw the fearful confusion in her eyes. His heart instantly softened.

"Please…" he whispered. "Please, sing this for me…I need to hear it…"

His voice sounded so pleading, Tris felt herself melting. She took a deep breath and looked down at the sheet of music before her. It was a song that the girl, Aminta, sung earlier on in the opera. She read the first few cords that opened the music, hearing him play them over and over as he waited. She looked at him one more time, finding his eyes locked on hers as he continued playing those same cords over and over. She looked back at the music and began to sing.

 _"_ _Your eyes see but my shadow.  
My heart is overflowing.  
There's so much you could come to love.  
You've got my heart glowing.  
Tenderly, you could see my soul..."_

The playing on the piano came to an abrupt halt and Eric pushed himself away from the instrument, rising to his feet in lightning speed and began pacing the chamber like a caged tiger.

Tris had been lost in the beautiful song. The melody was so haunting and passionate and the lyrics oh so loving, that she was startled by the abrupt stop which brought her crashing back to earth. Had she upset him? She knew she had no formal kind of training when it came to singing, but she didn't believe she was horrible.

Eric's eyes latched onto hers, never leaving their grey blue depths as he continued his pacing. Incredible, amazing, outstanding; there weren't enough words to describe her voice. It was something that had been missing in the Paris Opera House for years…purity. She had such a pure voice, the tone and pitch clear like a bell. Never had he heard anything so exquisite in all his years at the Opera.

She had the voice of an angel.

Tris felt herself grow more and more uneasy with each step he took. She was going to go mad if someone didn't say or do something. "Monsieur…I'm sorry if I offend-"

He stopped.

"Sorry?" he said with awe. "You're _apologizing_?"

Tris practically jumped at the sudden change of tone in his voice. She couldn't tell if he was surprised, elated, or…upset.

"I…well…that is…" she looked up into his eyes, her own filled with confusion. "Yes?"

Eric shook his head furiously.

"Don't apologize, do not _ever_ apologize for…" he wanted to say "the most beautiful divine sound I have heard from another living soul", but he didn't. Instead, he said, "…the talent in which you have been blessed."

Tris felt her cheeks burn at his words. Was that…a compliment? She did not think he would ever say such a thing to her.

"Thank you," she whispered, her eyes quickly darting away as his caught hers again. Eric sighed and carefully approached her once more.

"I have…I have never heard such a sound before," he stated honestly. If it had been someone else who had said such a thing, she would have laughed, feeling that that person was humoring her. Yet she knew that this man was being entirely sincere.

"Your voice is truly remarkable," he whispered with awe. "The tone, the pitch…everything…it's so clear…" he turned away, rubbing his brow between his fingers.

Tris stood perfectly still, not entirely sure what to do or say.

"Yet…" he continued. "While it is quite lovely…it is obviously untrained."

Tris had blushed to his words and a small smile formed at the corners of her mouth, but after these words, she felt the smile fade away.

"You have astounded me with your first attempts at these songs, especially the first one," he murmured. "I know it may sound like bragging, but I have been writing music ever since I've been here…and it is a fact that I am very good at it," he turned to face her once again.

"I study music for countless hours every day; most of my compositions end up being burnt for the lack of talent that they possess," he honestly stated, smirking. He did believe himself to be good, but he also knew that he was not perfect. "Yet this opera…I do believe is my masterpiece. And you…someone who has had no formal kind of training…can sing the part of Aminta…as if God had composed you for the role."

Tris' mouth fell open at his statement. Surely he was jesting! Yes, her voice was untrained, yes, she had no formal singing experience, but…she was not as good as he was claiming her to be!

"Monsieur-"

"I'll make a deal with you, mademoiselle," he murmured, sitting himself back down at the piano, his fingers lightly running over the ivory keys. " _Don Juan Triumphant_ is an opera that I want performed here in Paris…and now I feel that it is ready to be performed at the end of the opera season. Allow me to be your teacher…to train your voice so that you can perfect the gifts you have been blessed with…and truly emerge as Aminta."

She could not believe what she was hearing. "

You…you want to train me?" she asked with bewilderment. Was this the same man who had screamed at her the day before, and then had given her the most beautiful room she had ever seen? Now, instead of being furious with her for singing his music…he wanted to be her teacher?

"Yes you," he muttered, feeling his patience thinning. How he longed to take possession of her voice and hear her sing Aminta's part only in the way that he had dreamed. Tris frowned at his words.

"You cannot blame me for being a little…flabbergasted to say the least, by your offer," she stated, folding her arms across her chest.

He found himself grinning. Ah, that spirit of hers…he did so admire it.

"I apologize," he whispered, which in itself was a bit of a shock for Tris. He smiled even more at this.

"So, will you allow me to be your teacher? I will not lie to you," he warned. "I will be extremely demanding and expect perfection at every rehearsal. I know that you came to Paris with hopes of singing in the chorus," he continued, ignoring the surprise that was in her eyes at this fact. "I am not preparing you to be a chorus girl…I am preparing you to be a star. The part of Aminta is not for a chorus girl but for a diva, a woman who can carry the role with perfection. That is what I am demanding…perfection," he stated quite plainly.

"Rehearsals will be long and hard…and no doubt you will come to despise me even more than you already do," he sighed. Tris stared at him when he said these words, her heart going out to him, but her mind reeling with everything he was telling her. "But I cannot help that, I am a slave to music and it is my greatest passion. And I demand so much because…I can hear the potential for greatness by what you have sung thus far," he murmured in awe once again. "So, what do you say? Will you let me teach you?" while it sounded like a question, it was truly more like a demand.

Tris let everything he had said sink in. She had no sense of what formal training was like. If she had sought it from someone else would it be as grueling and demanding as he was warning her? Did she have a choice?

She lifted an eyebrow and stared back at him. "You said this was a deal…what did you mean by that?"

 _Clever girl_. His admiration for her was growing by the minute.

"Let me train you, and when I feel that you are ready, that you have reached your pinnacle and can step forward as the new star for the Paris Opera House…I will release you from your captivity."

Tris was floored by his last words. He would set her free simply by accepting his offer to train her voice?

"Understand that it will depend on whether I and I alone believe you are ready," he explained one last time, giving her fair warning. "But yes…when that time has come…you will be released."

He wasn't sure why… perhaps it was the pain meds or nostalgia, he couldn't be sure- but he felt a stab of pain under his left rib after he said those words. Funny, the bullet hadn't hit him there…

"So give me an answer mademoiselle before I lose my mind with waiting."

Tris gazed into his grey eyes once more, losing herself in the silvery pools of his being.

Freedom.

She could almost taste it.

And yet she felt a strange wave of sadness come over her for a brief moment. She quickly shook the feeling away, unsure what it was or what it meant, and refocused her gaze with his. By agreeing to his bargain, not only would she be released from her captivity, but her dreams of singing on stage at the Paris Opera House would come true as well! Yes, it would be hard work, she had no doubt…but she was up to the challenge.

"Yes," she whispered, locking her eyes with his. "Yes, I want you to train my voice."

Eric felt such elation at her words that he almost fell off the piano bench. But he hid it all in his heart and simply nodded his head to her.

"Wonderful. Now, first order of business," he began quite seriously, "is to get a proper night's rest. We will begin early tomorrow," he rose from the bench and brushed past her towards his bedchamber. A brief shock of electricity passed between them as she felt his arm brush her shoulder. She cursed the dress she was wearing, knowing that it looked horrible on her, and then wondered why she was caring at all about what she wore in front of him.

"Goodnight monsieur," Tris called out, her back to the Phantom, before slowly walking towards the entrance that led out of his music chamber.

"Tris?"

She came to a halt as she heard her name being spoken on his lips for the first time. She felt a strange fire burn between her legs as the words dripped off him like warm honey. She slowly turned her head and glanced over her shoulder at him. Once more, he was standing in the entryway between his two chambers, filling it deliciously with his broad body.

"Do you like your room?" he simply asked, his eyes boring deeply into her own. She swallowed and simply nodded her head.

"Yes…thank you," she whispered.

"My pleasure," he whispered back, before turning and disappearing like a ghost into the shadows of his bed chamber.

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 **Thank you again for reading and remember to review!**


	14. XIII: Desire

**Can I just tell you all how awesome all of you are and how much you want me to keep writing this story? Seriously, I should be thanking each and every one of you, and I hope that this new chapter shows my gratitude. Let's just say things are going to get a little... heated** **...;3**

* * *

 _"Stay away from the underground lake I implore,_  
 _The Siren will see you are heard of no more."_  
 **― E.A. Bucchianeri**

Tris shot up in bed, breathing heavily and her nightgown sticking to her cold sweated back. She had woken up from another dream once more. Fortunately, at least in her opinion, it hadn't been her recent erotic and mist filled dreams; however, this dream was still mystery filled and felt oh so real, which just increased to unnerve her. She remembered her dream-self walking listlessly through what looked a dilapidated and abandoned fairground, as if deciding where she should to explore. Then, in a blink of an eye two children ran in front of her, running towards the one tent that was glowing dimly bright from the outside. Looking at them from behind, Tris was for certain that the two children, a boy and a girl, looked exactly like her and Caleb when they were younger.

Curiosity got the best of her, and Tris found herself chasing after them to go inside the tent. Inside, the tent was crowded by onlookers as they gathered around the cage. What were they doing here and what was it that they all found so fascinating. She had tried to gain the attention of the children or any other patron inside the tent as to what was going on, but no one looked at her or appeared to even hear her. Then, the crowd erupted into a roar of applause and laughter. Tris felt her dream-self already losing her patience, and she remembered that she had pushed shoved people passed her to get a better view before the onlookers got careless, and roughly pushed her in front of the cage… and into the face of a monster.

That was when the dream came to an abrupt ending, leaving her alone in bed trying to catch breath and sense of reality. Tris mentally scolded herself for being frightened over something that was real nor could harm. It had only been a dream most likely coming from hearing the story about Phantom's and the others' past, and yet it didn't bring her any comfort. Tris couldn't quite pinpoint it, no matter how hard she tried, but she couldn't shake off the feeling that she had been at that exact same fair attraction. It could've been possible as her mother would perform at fairs, conventions, and charity sites. She could've been so young that she just couldn't remember. Alas, this frustrated Tris to no end, but it did neither to bring her comfort. The dream had left her questioning so many things and she wanted answers, and yet who could she turn to? She didn't know where or what had happened to her father and Caleb, and Marlene would probably be apologizing for telling her about their sordid pasts. Could he… just maybe- no. It was out of the question. She couldn't begin to bring herself to talk to the Phantom and hear from his own lips about his life before coming to the Opera Garnier.

She and her dream dilemmas were going to alone on this case.

Tris sighed irritably. Now that she had woken up again from her restless dreams and nightmares, she doubted that she wasn't going to get any sleep that night. She had tossed and turned for what felt like hours, and was finally succumbing to the fact that she was simply not going to get any sleep. Why? Because she dared not go back to sleep without the notion the dreams would occur once more, and finally, felt she had somehow made a deal with the devil himself.

After her surreal encounter with the Phantom, she returned to her chamber and threw herself onto the bed, praying that sleep would come to her, feeling utterly exhausted by everything that had taken place, not to mention the strange feelings that were swirling around in her head…and heart.

He liked her voice, he thought she had talent, he knew her name! She moaned softly as she remembered the way her name dripped off his lips, like honey melting off the comb. His voice was so hypnotic; deep, rich, soft. Did he sing? Tris believed that a musician of his talents must be able to sing. If he sang to her, Tris knew that she would faint away from the first few chords his voice brought forth.

She groaned and fidgeted some more. Why was this happening to her? He was her kidnapper! Why was she feeling this way? This wasn't some dark romance that she read. This was real. He had stated quite plainly to her that he was no hero with a happy ending to offer. She was young, true, with what some would call "frivolous dreams", but she was also realistic and level-headed. She had dreams of adventure, but she knew the line between dream and reality…and this was a cold, harsh reality. He liked her voice, he thought her talented, but that was it! He was in this for himself, for his own opera- not for her. She had to keep telling herself that, or else she would be in danger of…of…

No, she would not think of it, for if she did, then she would be in danger of believing it. She did not have feelings for this Phantom! She didn't! She groaned again and crushed her face into the pillow.

All she could see was him. His strong arms and broad shoulders filling that doorway between his chambers. The way he carried himself- regal and mysterious, like a cat stalking its prey. She remembered how he had somehow come around and blocked her way out of the chamber, and how he approached her, his great height towering over her, his fingers rising to stop her lips from speaking. His face may be scarred under the smooth black mask that he wore, but she could not remember a time when she had found another man so handsome and desirable as he was in that moment.

Oh God, she needed help. She did not understand such feelings, such passionate desires that were coursing through her blood. Her mother died before she had a chance to talk about such things, Caleb would've teased her on such notions if he knew, and her father, bless his heart, well…a girl could not ask her own father such things!

No, she must force herself to put away such thoughts and focus on the bargain that she had agreed to. Her freedom depended entirely on how well she sang for him. She had no doubts that he would be extremely demanding, and she had no doubts that she would come to despise him during those long strenuous rehearsals. But she would have to keep reminding herself that with every note, with every song, with every hour that passed while she sang…would bring her one step closer to her freedom. She should be smiling with joy at such thoughts!

So why did she feel so unhappy then?

Tris threw the blankets off and sat up. How she longed for a book! That was what this beautiful room was missing, a simple bookshelf filled with stories to tame her anxiety. Perhaps she could borrow some of Uriah's books, or maybe Eric could find-

Eric. His name alone sent a strange shiver down her spine.

Tris looked down at herself then, a disgusted look passing over her features. She was still in the same drab grey dress she had worn since the night she was taken prisoner. The dress still had remnants of mud and blood stains from the night she escaped, and while Marlene had been able to sew up the horrible rip that Edgar had caused, it still looked awful. It was beginning to smell as well despite the wash it had received the night she brought Eric back to his underground lair.

The sound of falling water drew her attention to the small waterfall and pool that lay in the far corner of her room. She remembered the perfumes on the dressing table and glanced over, wondering if there was any soap. To her happiness, she saw a small bar of rose-scented soap, next to a basin and pitcher. There was also a white fluffy towel that lay beneath the soap. Tris rose from the bed and dashed over to the soap and towel, a blush covering her cheeks at the thought that was forming in her head. She gathered the items and then went over the pool, the smile immediately fading.

It was too small. The pool was not even deep enough to cover her whole body. But then she noticed a tiny opening against the wall. Yes, the water was leading out of the chamber! She left her chamber and followed the sound of water around several large jagged rocks till finally, she came to a clearing, streaming with moonlight upon the gentle waters of an underground lagoon. Her face lit with such pleasant surprise at her discovery. She blushed and wondered if she was safe from any prying eyes.

The others were further away, and no doubt sleeping. Besides, she remembered Marlene assuring her that no one would disturb her unless she asked for anything. And Eric…

She blushed at the thought but quickly shook her head. He was asleep, of course, and would have no interest in seeing her at all till time came for their rehearsal. No, this was as good a time as any.

Quietly and quickly, Tris shed her dress and undergarments, before being welcomed into the cool refreshing waters.

* * *

He wasn't going to get any sleep. He was trying, by God he was trying. He needed the sleep, especially after the new discovery that was made about the costume girl. She could sing! And not just any song, but his own! Eric knew he was being arrogant, but he couldn't help it! _Don Juan Triumphant_ was a masterpiece. His masterpiece, and Tris was the first woman he had ever encountered that could sing the part as if she were the living breathing character of Aminta herself!

All he could hear was her voice, beautifully ringing loud and clear in his head. The way she sang those songs, it was outstanding! Yes, she badly needed some training, but she was a miracle all the same! It would be early, it had to be early, he could not wait till mid-morning, let alone mid-day to begin her lessons. But he would mold her and prepare her for stardom, and that was exactly what she would become…a star of opera!

Something deep inside him tugged at the memory of the deal that he made with the girl. He was so desperate to get his hands on her voice that he would have done anything for her…and that's exactly what he did. He promised her the freedom he knew she longed for in exchange for his opportunity to train her to play the part. It was a fair bargain after all, it was what they both wanted…yet that strange tugging feeling worsened at the thought of her leaving for good. Another thought kept tugging his mind that he hadn't been able to process since saving the girl from her would be rapists and then him getting stabbed. What were the odds and chances that this costume girl and future star- Tris Prior- was the little girl that showed him kindness? How was it possible that they would meet again so many years later? It had been a long ago, but he could remember that day as though it had happened yesterday. Out of all the onlookers who had left the show, Tris had been the only one brave enough to have a closer look. Instead of throwing trash and mocking him, the curious girl gave him food to eat and her gloves to keep him warm. She had given him the brightest that shined brighter than the sun could in his dark world. She looked at his destroyed, mangled face and called him a beautiful. She thought he wasn't a monster- a fact that Eric would now derisively mock about. His face and black soul were what true monsters were made of. Yet, for a split second, he began to feel some sort of… guilt for what he doing. She had tried to him… and he was returning the favor by keeping her as his prisoner. Then, suddenly the wheels in his heads began to turn.

Why didn't she remember him?

It seemed so preposterous! How could she forget him? Him? The faceless monster that had a distorted soul to match the face? The thought alone just made Eric even angrier. He kept her mittens as a keepsake to remember the one person who dared tried to help him, and she didn't have the audacity to do the same for him? His demon head was the stuff of nightmares that would be a permanent stain on anyone's brain. Damn him for being so foolish, and damn her as well! He should've known that she would be like all the others.

Eric took one of the large pillows and crushed it against his face. Damn it! He was not going to go through anything like this again! He remembered the pain of pining away for the lovely dancer, Nita, and the jealousy that burned within him as he watched her give herself to the young future Vicomte de Sevoy. He had been such a fool, writing her stupid love poems and songs of his affection, all the while hiding in the shadows while she bragged them to the other ballet girls, thinking they were coming from Tobias. How he longed to wrap a noose around the man's neck!

Love was a curse. He learned long ago that when one had needs, they were best settled with a "professional" than with letters and poems. And that was all he was feeling… rage and lust. Simple blind anger and lust. She had forgotten about him, and didn't bothered by the fact at all. It had also been a long time since he had last had a woman. In fact, he had not gone above to see any of the prostitutes since the night that silly girl had entered his life. He needed a long hard fuck with one of the many ladies of the night, preferably against an ally wall; they were quicker that way, and Eric never went inside with these women.

Yes, that was it; he just wanted to feel a woman's legs wrapped around him and bury himself inside a woman's heat. This girl was indeed pretty, and he felt his body begin to stiffen at the memory of seeing her standing before him, in her undergarments, the rain falling around her, causing the fabric to be nearly transparent. That was all he wanted, a female body, not this particular girl.

Then why was it that he could only think of her?

Damn this wound! If he could move about better, he would abandon all thoughts and go above to lose himself with one of those women. Yet a part of him, deep down, knew that no matter how many hours he spent in a prostitute's company…his lust would not be truly satisfied.

He threw the blankets back and rose from the bed, praying that music would be able to soothe the savage need that was coursing through his blood. Yet the second he sat down at the bench to his organ, he found that he could not bear to play. It was all because of her! If he began to play, the thoughts of her face, of her body, of her voice would come streaming back, and there would be no hope for him at all then.

He buried his face into his hands and leaned against the instrument, groaning to himself. Dear God, what was he going to do? He was going to go mad! Only one thought came to him…he had to see her.

It was foolish, and he felt like an idiot for even thinking it, but he knew that if he didn't see her, he would explode! They didn't have to speak. She didn't even have to be awake, for no doubt she was sleeping. But he needed to see her all the same, just to have one look at her beautiful face, to remind him of the ugliness that was beneath his mask, to remind him of the life he could never have. And then his desire for flesh would be transformed into anger, and music would flow from his anger like rain in a storm.

With new determination, Eric rose from the organ bench and grabbed a linen shirt, throwing it over his head and quickly darting out of his chambers. And then a new thought stopped him short…

Tris had been wearing this horrid looking dress, in fact, if he remembered correctly, she had been wearing the same dress those last few days! He could see the remnants of the mud from the ally that caked it, not to mention the blood of both himself and Edgar that soiled it as well. Someone who was going to be trained to become a star needed to look the part as well.

He had a task, and this was exactly what he needed, something for him to focus on what this was truly all about, making his opera become a reality. He hurried as quickly as his healing body would allow to the costume cages, the place where he had her first imprisoned. He couldn't help but grin slightly at the opened door. He went inside and plucked several gowns that hung from the cage's wires, all of which looked to be the right size, and then quickly dashed back to where her chamber lay.

It was quiet as he approached, and he could tell that all but one of the oil lamps within the chamber was lit. She was most likely asleep, which meant he could simply leave the gowns near her dressing table without her knowledge. He felt strange as he approached the entrance, like a boy almost, and he ground his teeth at the thought. What was wrong with him? He held his breath as he came around the entryway to her chamber, wondering how she would look…would she even be dressed? What should he say if she saw him? He looked at the bed where she lay…and frowned. She was not in the bed, and he whirled around, realizing she was nowhere to be seen!

Eric swore under his breath and threw the gowns onto the bed. No, he would not lose her now, not after he had heard her sing!

He stormed out of the chamber, prepared to go on a crazy search throughout the whole labyrinth, when a splashing sound caught his attention. He turned his head towards the sound and heard it again. And a smell filled his nostrils, the smell of…roses?

His brow furrowed in confusion, Eric followed the sounds and the strange smell, easily moving in the darkness and around the rocks that blocked his path, till he saw moonlight fill an open space. It was the lagoon, the secret underground lake that lay beneath the Palais Garnier Opera House that no one knew existed. He had no idea where the splashing sounds were coming from, the water looked still, as if nothing had disturbed it. But something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and his mouth fell open when he saw the dress and what lay beneath it lying in a pile by the lagoon's shoreline.

And then, a great splash sounded off to his left, and Eric's eyes went wide as the sight of a very naked Tris emerged from the waters.

Her back was to him, but it was all he needed to see in order for his heart to skip a beat. Before she had the opportunity to look over her shoulder and catch him, he darted behind a rock, the shadows shielding him from the moonlight. He knew how to disappear in the shadows, he had been doing so his entire life. From his hiding place he found himself staring at her back, the creamy skin moist from the cool waters, her long dirty blonde hair dripping down her skin. He gasped when she dove one more time beneath the waters, catching sight of her hips and bottom. And when she emerged again, she was facing him now, and he thought he had never seen such beauty…

Her hands were in her hair, smoothing it from her eyes. The water lapped at her breasts, beautiful round pale orbs crowned with hard rosy nipples. Eric felt his mouth water at the sight. She was smiling as she slowly waded towards the shoreline, fetching a bar of soap that she began to lather across her skin. He took in everything- her legs were slender, the hips and thighs straight and creamy…and at the center, the doorway to paradise. Eric's eyes were locked for the longest time at the dripping curls that nestled between her thighs, and he groaned inwardly, never before feeling so hard as he did right now. She was a goddess…and he knew that if she beckoned him at that very moment, he would be her slave for life.

Tris had no idea that he was there, which perhaps fascinated him most of all. The way she bathed herself, the way she ran the soap over her skin…it was so innocent, and yet it drove his desire beyond anything he had ever felt. His shaft was beckoning for release, begging him to do something, even if it was simply to wrap his own hand around it. But he pushed the thought away, forcing himself to turn away from the beautiful sight. She mustn't know he had seen her. However, he couldn't resist playing a little…

Tris rinsed herself clean one last time before finally being satisfied that she had wiped away all the grime from the last few nights. The water had been most refreshing indeed, and Tris felt that perhaps she would make this a habit every night. She emerged from the pool, wiping her body with the towel before placing her chemise and pantaloons on her body. Her skin was still slick from the water and she knew that the pale fabric did very little with covering her skin, however it was only till she got back to her chamber…who was going to see her?

She fetched her dress and the rest of her things and headed back to her chamber, humming one of the songs she had sung for Eric that evening. She was so content from her bath that she didn't realize before it was too late, that she wasn't alone in her chamber.

"Lovely evening for a late night swim, don't you think?"

Tris gave a high-pitched shriek when she saw Eric standing before her, his large strong frame leaning against one of her bedposts, his arms folded across his chest, his face unreadable as usual…although she thought she could see something of a smirk, despite the mask.

"What the hell are you doing here!?" she demanded, clutching her dress to her body, trying to conceal as much of herself as she could.

Eric couldn't help but grin a little more at her behavior. Truly, he had never thought she looked more delectable, more desirable, than she did at this very moment. He felt the stirring in his loins again, but he ignored it.

"I simply came to see how you were," he said simply. Tris stared at him, blinking for several seconds before she found her voice. "

To…to see how I was?"

Eric nodded his head. "And I can see that…you've more than made yourself at home."

She felt herself blushing as she realized his eyes were raking over her body, and clutched the dress against herself even tighter.

"I'm…I'm doing very well, thank you," she replied, lifting her chin and trying to show him that he did not intimidate her one bit. Eric could only grin more wickedly at this.

"I'm glad," he whispered, and then looked at the dress she was clutching to herself and frowned. "And I thought perhaps…you would appreciate some new clothes."

Tris stared at him with confusion, and then gasped as his hand indicated to the gowns he had placed upon her bed. Forgetting for a second that he was in her room, standing near her bed, and she was only wearing her undergarments, Tris went to the bed and with tentative fingers, touched the beautiful fabrics that lay there.

"They're beautiful!" she exclaimed.

"Yes they are…" Eric agreed, although he wasn't looking at the gowns.

Tris glanced up and blushed even more as she realized how close they were standing to one another. She quickly took a few steps back, her knuckles turning white at how tightly she clutched the dress to her body.

"Thank you, monsieur," she whispered, looking away from his burning eyes.

Eric could not take his gaze off her. The urge to take her in his arms was burning every fiber of his being. He was not a stranger to sex, but he had never been with a woman on a bed, surrounded by softness and the scent or roses, and that was exactly how she smelled and he knew that would be how she would feel. Soft and sweet…God how he wanted her.

"You're welcome, mademoiselle," he whispered back, before taking a few steps back from her as well.

The two of them locked eyes with each other and in that brief moment, a shock of electricity went through them both. It was Eric who broke the spell, saying, "Since we are both awake, I see no reason why we should waste time any further. Quickly get dressed and then come to my chambers and we shall begin."

Without another word, he turned on his heel and left her alone in the chamber. Tris stared at the space where he had been standing, her breathing slightly ragged and her legs trembling. She reached out to grip the bedpost in order to keep from melting away. Oh heaven above, she was lost.

Eric didn't stop moving till he reached his chamber. Once there he retreated into his darkened bed chamber and collapsed upon the bed, groaning as the lust surged through his body. He could not help it, but he found his hands reaching down and gripping his throbbing organ and stroking it with hopes to find release. Eric rarely touched himself. He was always disgusted with the simple thought of his body, but now, he could not help it. All he could think about was her body, her beautiful body rising from the water, and her sweet voice filling his ears, and her fiery spirit, matching his own, even when she was afraid. He imagined her body tangled with his, her voice singing the song of pleasure and passion, and her spirit boiling with his own as together they strove to reach the pinnacle of their desires.

Eric cried out as he came hard from his thoughts, groaning the satisfaction of his release as his body went limp and his breathing became ragged. Never had the thought of a single person have such an effect on him. And never had he felt such desire before.

However, the pleasure quickly disappeared as he felt his own stickiness upon his fingers. He was disgusted with himself and rose to quickly wash his hands and change his trousers. He was a monster, simple as that. He knew it, and he had a feeling she knew it as well. So what if she had seen him several times without his mask, he knew she would never be attracted to him, and while once upon a time he had thought of making her a personal slave to his every lustful whim, he knew he could never– _would_ never do such a thing to such an angel.

Despite any ill thoughts he could have about her forgetting him and yet still wanting her to, it was the only world he could use to describe her. Angel. Yes, that was what she was. Not a goddess but an angel, something that was far out of reach, something he could never obtain, no matter how hard he repented.

His anger grew more and more with each passing second. Anger for his deformity, anger for her beauty, anger that she didn't remember him, anger for the world that would never truly accept him. He stormed into the music chamber, seating himself at the organ and began to play with such furious passion, none like he had ever felt.

He played for a long time, losing himself in the music, before he felt her eyes upon his back. He would always feel her eyes upon him, especially after the incident when she removed his mask.

"You're late," he muttered, his playing never ceasing or missing a beat.

Tris' mouth fell open at his words. She had been as quick as she could; she just hadn't been sure which dress to wear. They were all so lovely, but they were designed for acting, not for walking about in or…for rehearsing in. Eric turned then and eyed her, his gaze judging her from the start.

In truth, she looked beautiful, wearing a royal blue peasant gown that the character of Marguerite wore in "Faust", but he was a man who wore masks, and so he masked his pleasure at the sight of her, and instead, stalked past her to his piano and seated himself, opening the music before him.

"Right…let us begin," he instructed, playing the first few notes on the score before him.

Tris swallowed the nervous lump in her throat. _Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

 **Thank you again for reading and remember to review!**


	15. XIV: TensioN

**Can I just tell you all how awesome all of you are and how much you want me to keep writing this story? Seriously, I should be thanking each and every one of you, and I hope that this new chapter shows my gratitude. Sorry, I just wanted to say that again because you guys are amazing!**

* * *

 _"Twisted every way,_  
 _what answer can I give?"_  
 **― The Phantom of the Opera**

"Max! Oh thank God, I have to speak with you at once!"

Max turned to see a breathless David running to his side, his cheeks red and puffy from exertion. The slightly younger man groaned and began rubbing the bridge of his nose, already having a bad feeling about what his partner had to say.

"Don't tell me…" David gasped, but nodded his head. Max groaned.

"That makes the twelfth one we've received this month!" he cursed. David, finally having the time to catch his breath, groaned with frustration along with his business partner.

"We've been receiving notes filled with threats about allowing Jeanine to perform, about changing the opera season, and…well…" David handed the note to Max. "I'm afraid, this one is once again, about that unknown opera…"

Max swore. "Not again! I don't care who this…prankster thinks he is! I happen to agree with the Vicomte, we shall not be intimidated by some foolish, masked-"

David hissed at Max to keep his voice down. They were in the grand foyer of the Palais Garnier, where people of fashion came to lounge and discuss whatever gossip was going about society, and several heads had turned to overhear the two managers' terse discussion.

David gently pulled Max's arm and led the gentleman to their joined office where they could not be heard. Once the door was shut, David turned to face his partner.

"I know that you think me a fool for saying this, let alone believing this-"

"David-"

"But I'm starting to believe that…that these letters are not the work of an idle prankster!" he was sweating profusely, and Max had noticed that David seemed very jumpy. He kept looking around, as if trying to make sure they were truly alone and no one would hear what they had to say.

"I too believed that all those notes and tales we had heard about the infamous 'Phantom of the Opera' were simply jokes that Edgar had played in order to scare the ballet girls…but…Max…these threats…they are becoming real!"

Max groaned and collapsed into his desk chair. "Now see here David, the only reason that we are receiving more of these letters is because we are not reacting to them the way he had in the past! This 'Phantom', or whoever the hell he is, is trying to scare us, and from the looks of things," he muttered, adding the note David had given him and throwing it into a pile with the other notes they had been receiving, "I'd say that our so-called 'Phantom' is getting desperate."

David shook his head. "Max, do you not remember the last two performances?"

Max shuttered at the memory. Nearly three weeks ago, Jeanine was scheduled to perform. On the day of her performance, a note had arrived, threatening that the understudy should go on in Jeanine's place, or else a great scandal would occur. Needless to say, the managers ignored the letter, as the Vicomte had instructed. However, they found themselves eating their words when that evening, Jeanine went on stage, and her voice went from singing…to croaking!

To the horror of everyone on stage, plus the managers, Jeanine could not stop croaking! She finally fled the stage, screaming–if that was what her croaking was meant to sound like–and the patrons demanded their money back.

Only two days ago, Jeanine was scheduled to perform again, and yet once more, another letter filled with threats arrived. This time, it said that if her understudy did not go on for her, a fear greater than anything they had known would come true.

This time David summoned the Vicomte de Sevoy for advice, but the Vicomte, like the last time, told the managers to ignore it. Jeanine was eager to perform and show whoever this prankster was that he could not mess with her! But fifteen minutes prior to when the curtain would go up…Jeanine went missing. She was not in her dressing room; she could not be found anywhere backstage…it was as if she had vanished into thin air!

Jeanine's understudy was to go on while the managers and the police searched high and low for their beloved prima donna. The understudy, a girl who was never given the opportunity to learn the opera, let alone perfect her singing skills, went on to give a most mediocre performance. Once again, the patrons demanded their money back, and the Opera House lost all its profits.

Finally, an hour after the bad performance had ended, Jeanine was discovered locked in a broom closet, a scarf in her mouth, a blindfold around her eyes, and her hands tied to her ankles. Pinned on her sleeve was a note that read, _I hope, dear gentlemen, you will not test my patience further._

David needed no more proof. He truly believed the Phantom was real!

Max was still skeptical, mainly because he felt someone around here had to be. True, the letters had been coming faster than ever before. Strange demands were being made, such as changing the opera season, adding a new opera by an unknown composer titled _Don Juan Triumphant_. If the managers agreed to the Phantom's terms, the threats would end and the score would be sent for the orchestra and company to practice.

If these demands were not met, more outrageous scandals would occur. Costumes, props, and tools had already gone missing, some of the patrons' lounges were ransacked, and members of the staff were threatening to quit for fear of ghosts that they swore they had seen. The Phantom was haunting them because he was upset for the Opera disobeying him, or so they believed.

Still, Max held close to the fact that this was all some elaborate trick to make both him and David look like fools. He had several suspects. He knew the elaborate opera companies in London and Vienna were jealous of the Palais Garnier company's success, and it was rumored that Brussels was willing to pay a handsome fortune to have Jeanine Matthews appear for the rest of their season.

Something had to be done and fast, especially before Jeanine learned about Brussels.

"That note is yet another demand that we push everything else off the opera season and devote all our time to this…this _Don Juan Triumphant_!" David muttered, running a hand over his sweating face. He could see the money they had made fly out the window.

"Calm yourself," Max grumbled. "We will do nothing of the sort. We will continue things as they are scheduled-"

"But Max-"

"Now is _not_ the time to be changing things!" Max hissed, rising from his chair and glaring out of the glass at the people that casually strolled about the grand foyer. "If we change things we will lose more money than this…this _Phantom_ could ever cost us!"

He turned and faced David, the annoyance and frustration that he felt towards this unknown prankster clearly written across his features. "Our patrons…especially our most powerful, will not tolerate changing the season that they wanted…especially if we do it for some…some unknown piece of…we don't even know what it's like, we've never seen it!"

"But Max-"

"And furthermore David, we cannot simply cut Jeanine off the opera season! You saw how much money we lost those last two performances! The people want to see her and no one else!"

"But Jeanine is threatening to leave!"

Max's face paled at this news. "When did you hear this?"

David groaned and removed his handkerchief, using it to wipe his brow and nose. "Just before I received the letter. She is getting fed up with her treatment here in Paris- not to mention the horrible reviews that have been coming in ever since the opening gala."

Max's voice was a hushed tone and he leaned forward so no one could hear him, despite the fact that it was only the two of them in the office. "Does she know about Brussels?"

David shook his head. "Not yet, but…" his voice trailed off, afraid to even comprehend the thought of his money flying out the window.

max nodded his head, groaning at the thought of Jeanine's shrieks of rage for her displeasure.

"Then there is only one thing that is to be done…" he sighed. "Send word to the Vicomte."

* * *

Marlene sighed and shook her head, sympathy written all across her withered face as she handed Tris a hot cup of tea.

"Drink this, it will soothe the vocal chords," she whispered. Tris gratefully took the cup, her throat feeling so tight that it was hard to accept the warm liquid, which burned as she swallowed it.

One month. She had been in this underground place for an entire month, and yet it still felt as if only yesterday she had been taken prisoner.

Prison. Yes, that was exactly what this place was. She had been foolish once upon a time to think that it was something more, that she was in a mysterious romantic gothic fairy tale and that the Phantom was the dark prince.

Ever since he discovered the truth about her singing capabilities he had become a most militant teacher, commanding her to sing beyond the brink of what was humanly possible for her. He was ruthless, summoning her at odd hours whenever inspiration struck him, to perform the scores of music he had composed the previous night. When he told her that he would be demanding, he was not joking. Every day it was the same: they would start with warm-ups which consisted of a wide variety of scales, her voice being stretched to the far ends of the sound spectrum. Following the warm-ups came time to practice the great works of the masters of opera. This would go on for hours, and every now and then Eric would stop his playing to reprimand her for doing something wrong, and to teach her the story and history behind the work she was singing.

The final hours of rehearsal were solely dedicated to his opera, _Don Juan Triumphant_. There were many songs that he had composed that Tris liked, such as the two she had sung the night he learned about her voice. But there were others, many of which were extremely difficult, and over all, while the music she thought was brilliant, she could not find herself liking his opera as much as he did. Perhaps it was the story. Aminta was a beautiful woman and Don Juan was a grotesque figure who lusted after her. Like most operas, the story ended tragically, although in this particular opera, the part that Tris truly could not stand, was the way that Aminta betrayed Don Juan, even after professing eternal love for him. Aminta seemed so passionate, and so sad, but the sudden character change was too extreme. She loved Don Juan, but for no reason, betrayed him by sleeping with another man, and once Don Juan discovered her treachery, killed both her and her lover, before falling upon his own sword–this was of course after he had sold his soul to the devil, ala Faust.

Tris couldn't understand how Eric could compose such a story…but then, she knew he hadn't had the easiest life.

She whimpered softly in pain as she felt the hot liquid burn her throat. She could feel the healing vapors of the tea begin their affect, yet it still hurt to swallow. She was in danger of developing a serious throat disease, Marlene thought. Her brow furrowed at the thought of Eric's cruel meticulousness.

"I'll have to speak with him," she muttered under her breath, but Tris heard her.

"No," she said hoarsely, before taking another sip of the tea. "I'm alright. I knew what I was getting into when I agreed to have him train me."

Marlene raised an eyebrow at this. She had a feeling Tris didn't know what exactly she had gotten herself into, but she knew that Eric must have promised her something in return for allowing her to be so strictly trained. Marlene knew that music was Eric's greatest love; it was the only thing he could depend on. Therefore, he was going to treat anything harshly when dealing with his love for music. She recalled how Eric had informed her and the others that he was going to become Tris' vocal teacher, and that unless it was a true emergency, he was not to be disturbed. If he needed them, he would call for them, but otherwise, he wanted to be left alone.

Marlene sighed and began cleaning the kettle that the tea had been boiled in, wondering what had come over Eric. True, she believed Tris' voice was very beautiful; she had heard it echo off the cavern walls and throughout the tunnels, yet it was something else that disturbed her. Eric was obsessed, so obsessed that he was truly losing coherent thought and sense when it came to, well, anything really, but especially to the limits Tris' voice could go or even the girl just in general. If Tris didn't say anything to him, then someone had to, and she had every intention of telling him what she thought.

"How are the lessons coming along?" Marlene casually asked while scrubbing the kettle.

Tris swallowed another gulp of the hot tea, feeling the soothing effects on her throat, but no smile came to her lips at Marlene's question.

"They're… going wonderfully," she lied, taking another sip.

Things had changed, in Tris' opinion, ever since she came to his chamber for her first rehearsal.

She was foolish to think that Eric had truly changed, despite the small kind acts he had bestowed. After creating her room and giving her the dresses, Tris thought that perhaps there was a chance that she and Eric could be…friends. She blushed at this thought, thinking herself stupid for even contemplating such a thing. Why? Why had she even considered that she wanted to become his friend? She sighed, knowing that it was because she was afraid of the strange feelings that…that he was awakening within her. Perhaps she would be safe from such feelings if they were friends.

She wanted to get to know Eric more, whether it was because of her conflicting feelings or the dreams that would occur much more frequently after their lessons. He was fascinating to her; a tragic figure with a passion for music, a romantic that hid in the shadows, a man with so many secrets, and yet he seemed to be yearning for something…acceptance? Recognition? She figured those were the most obvious reasons, and through his opera, he may finally achieve them. This was what drove him, as he had explained to her during their rehearsals. Finally, for the first time ever since he started composing, he could see something of his become a reality, and despite Tris' humility, he told her over and over that no other voice could sing the part.

When Eric first said this, Tris remembered blushing and denying the truth of the matter, but she could not help but smile somewhat to his compliment. Yet now she frowned, realizing that it wasn't a compliment, that he didn't admire her or her voice, he simply wanted to use it for his opera. It didn't matter that it was her voice, it was the voice of "Aminta", and that was all he cared about.

From that first rehearsal, his true colors showed brightly, just as they had the night he took her prisoner. He was cold and cruel, barking commands and directions that were hard for her to follow, shouting at her when she didn't do something right, and having her repeat lines and scales over and over again, demanding perfection, always insisting on perfection. For one whole month it had been like this; she had no idea that hell would look like a piano. Once she thought she would love the rehearsal times with him, thinking that she would get to know her mysterious seductive captor, but she was wrong. He was a cruel taskmaster, and she dreaded rehearsing. In fact…she was beginning to hate singing.

 _I should be happy_ , Tris thought to herself. _This is what I wanted, a reminder that I should despise him with every fiber of my being and not allow some stupid, girlish fantasies to take control of my mind...or heart._

Marlene saw the girl's expression darken more and more as she reflected on her rehearsals with Eric. Marlene was more determined than ever to get to the bottom of all this.

"Tris," she sighed, putting the kettle aside and taking Tris' free hand in her own, "you may be a prisoner here…but you deserve better. You should demand it, you-"

"You're late. I've been waiting for over twenty minutes."

Both Marlene and Tris jumped upon the cold dark voice that echoed off the cavern wall. In the faint candlelight of the entryway stood the Phantom, his head lowered, his body covered in black, his hooded trench coat draping down from his shoulders like a bat's wings. He was beautiful and terrifying at the same time.

"She can't sing," Marlene said with contempt, eyebrows furrowing at his coldness. "Her voice needs to rest-"

"Since when did you become an expert of the human voice?" Eric snapped, his eyes falling on Tris who stood before him, not refusing to look away, her spirit slowly rising to the challenge.

Marlene was shocked by the tone of voice Eric had used. He had yelled before, but this was different. This was a man she did not know! She opened her mouth to say something but Tris stepped in front of her.

"As soon as I finish my tea, I will be ready," she said calmly, taking another sip from the cup.

Eric glared. He was in no mood to test how far his patience could go.

"You will come, now," he growled.

Tris ignored him and took another sip, relishing the brew that slid down her throat, knowing it would be the last pleasant thing she would feel for a long while. She knew that she was being stubborn, but Eric needed to be taught a lesson. She wanted her freedom, now more than ever, and she had not forgotten the bargain that she had made with him. But she had learned how desperately he needed her too, and unless he started treating her with some respect, she was not going to come like a dog whenever he wished.

Eric growled, tired of this power play, and reached out and grabbed Tris by the wrist, yanking her away from Marlene, causing her to both gasp and drop the tea cup.

"Don't _ever_ make me wait again!" he hissed, before dragging her out of the cavern and down the tunnel that would lead to the music chamber.

Tris protested the whole way, telling Eric to loosen his grip, telling him that he was hurting her wrist. She was suddenly reminded of the Vicomte de Sevoy dragging her to his lounge up above the Opera House, much to her displeasure. Both men were vile in her opinion; at least the Vicomte didn't hide the fact of his intentions. It was obvious he was trying to seduce her. Eric may not be doing that, but he was prostituting her voice as far as she could tell.

Finally, they reached the music chamber and he released her, only after almost hurling her towards the piano. She glared at him while he went around and sat down, his fingers crashing on the keys.

"Now, since you've wasted away our warm-ups, you'll just have to go right into singing-"

"No." Eric's eyes widen as he realized what Tris had just said. He turned to face her and saw a gaze filled with anger and hatred that could make a grown man run with his tale behind his legs. Tris could feel her temper rising by the second as she looked at her captor and remembered how had treated her since she was taken. She had enough! She was a human being! She demanded to be treated like one.

"No?" Eric whispered in a hush and deadly quiet tone. Tris lifted her chin in defiance and Eric's fist came crashing down on the piano keys, causing Tris to jump at the thunderous sound it made.

" _No?"_ he growled, rising from the bench and causing it to fall over. His eyes were the color of a brewing winter storm upon the sea as he glared at her with such fury.

Tris felt the terror grip her, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of showing it to him. She had to be strong and stand her ground, so she glared right back at him.

"My throat hurts and my voice is tired…" she said hoarsely. "Marlene is right, I need to rest it."

"I am your teacher…" he growled, his eyes becoming cold slits. "I will tell you when your voice needs to rest!"

Tris' blue eyes became an identical storm that sent a threatening message back.

"And it is _my_ voice and _my_ body!" she hissed back, leaning towards him, her shoulders squared and her jaw set. "And I know it better than anyone!"

Eric stared in awe and disbelief at the defiance she was having towards him. She should be shaking in terror! But here she was…arguing with him, the Phantom of the Opera! He was not in a sick bed now, he was towering over her, his very form threatening her, and yet she refused to back down.

"You forget your place," he growled.

"It's right here in front of you," she hissed back.

"You forget who I am…that I'm the one who controls whether to release you…or let you rot in this pit!"

She lifted her chin and took another step closer, her whole body shaking with anger and her heart pounding loudly in her ears.

"And you forget, monsieur, that your masterpiece would still be gathering dust if not for my voice!" it was a selfish remark, but he had made it true from everything he had said…and he knew it.

Eric was a man who tolerated many things, even when he disapproved of them. But insulting music…especially _his_ music, was something he would not stand for. With panther-like speed, he was around the piano and had Tris by the shoulders, turning her and pinning her against the piano and his body. She cried out in pain as she felt the piano dig into her back and gazed up at him with hate. How had she ever fancied herself that there was something more to him? How could she believe herself to be _attracted_ to this man?

"I have never killed a woman before…but you're not making it difficult for me to imagine!" he spat, shaking her by the shoulders, angry, and yet very much aware that he was against her, his body molded against her own.

"You're a monster!" she screamed, before spitting in his face. Eric growled, ignoring her action and squeezing her extra hard, causing her to cry out.

"I could kill you now, you know, I could crush you with my own hands!" he threatened.

She looked up at him and said in a voice filled with such deadly calm, "At least I know that my spirit would still be free."

Eric did not know what it was. The calm coldness in her voice, the cool bitter glare that she returned to him, or simply the fact that the two of them were so close, but whatever it was…he felt a weakness that threatened to consume him. He was so close to her, so very close, his eyes, which were wild and fiery, glanced at her lips, moist and pink, that looked so inviting. He could kiss her, he wanted to kiss her, but he was furious with himself and with her for being right. Her words stabbed him deeply, for it was true. No matter what he tried to do to exert his power over her, it wouldn't matter, because the truth was he was her slave…slave to her voice, slave to the music, slave to these strange sensations that she had been stirring within him ever since he clamped eyes upon her. Before that ever since he heard about her from Tori and since she came returned all his hidden memories of her! This girl was going to be his undoing, and while it was tempting to lose himself to the uncontrollable urges of passion that were roaring through him, he had to grasp at some sanity, what little of it he contained.

He pushed himself quickly away from her, his eyes wild as he stared at her, watching her as she grunted from the pain of her back being held tightly against the piano. She whimpered slightly and rubbed her back and her arms, her eyes still cold and ruthless, matching his own wild stare.

He had to get away from her. She had to leave, now, or else. God help him, he was unsure what would happen, but he had to get her away!

"Leave!" he barked, turning his back on her, fighting the rage, fighting the urge to turn around and either strangle her, or take her in his arms and take her on the piano itself!

Tris was shocked by both his reaction and by his command. She did not understand this man, nor did she think she truly wanted to. But she herself could not deny the strange electricity that passed between them.

It frightened her. his rage, the change of his mood, and her feelings for him that still seemed to be as strong as before. He was right. She had to get out of there.

 _"Get out!"_ he shouted again, his roar causing the cavern walls to shake. Tris didn't need to be told again. She fled from him as fast as her legs could carry her.

He watched her go and cursed under his breath. Damn him! Damn her! Damn everything! What had just happened? He had almost lost all control and he could have killed her.

"What is wrong with you?"

Eric was surprised by the voice that interrupted his thoughts. He looked towards the entryway to find Marlene standing there, her face pale and her eyes wide. She looked at him as if for the first time, she was horrified by the ghastly scars on his face.

"Eric…I…I do not know you! You are not the man that I remember…you…you are a stranger to me!"

His heart was breaking as he heard her words. Marlene, who had been a mother to them all despite her young age, and she was afraid of him. It was so unusual to hear her call him by his name, but the way she said it was as if she were trying to bring whatever ounce of humanity back before the beast took total control.

"Why are you doing this…why are you pushing her so hard? I…I thought…"

Eric wanted to be alone. Her shame was more than he could handle, he was ashamed with himself. He simply wanted to be left alone, alone with his music…

"Leave me alone, Marlene," he whispered. She ignored his plea.

"I don't understand Erik. I mean, after she brought you back…I thought things had changed. I thought that perhaps…perhaps…" she didn't know how to say it. Eric had made Tris a room fit for a princess. He gave her gowns, food, even shared with her his most beloved compositions. Marlene thought that surely Eric was changing into a better man. That perhaps somewhere in his cold heart…he was learning to…to love. It was a foolish notion, she knew, but she thought it perhaps possible. Yet now…now her fears that this whole month of bitterness and obsession was driving him beyond the brink of madness, looked as though they may perhaps be true. She had followed them both and watched in horror as Eric attacked her. Tris had called him a monster…perhaps the girl was right?

"It doesn't matter what you think," Eric hissed coldly, turning his back on the tiny woman and retreating into the darkness of his bed chamber. "Go away, Marlene."

"Eric!" she cried out. "What is it that you're so afraid of that you must do these things?"

He paused but did not look over his shoulder.

"Myself," he whispered.

* * *

Tobias groaned as he shut Jeanine's dressing room door behind him. He quickly did up his trousers and began to briskly head towards the managers' office. He was angry and upset that the idiots could not control the spoiled soprano and had him sent to come and calm Carlotta down the only way that he knew how. He could still smell the outrageous perfume that she wore. It made him want to vomit.

Once upon a time, Jeanine proved to be fun. Now, she was soiled goods that he would not bestow upon his lowest servants. Her screeching and jealous rages were more than he could handle. He remembered how she mewed with pleasure to the filthy names he had called her while he was fucking her. Ironically, he meant every single name.

Jeanine was now sated. Her threats to leave Paris were over…at least for a while. At this point, Tobias would gladly be rid of the bitch, yet she still proved to be an icon, and as such, the tickets continued to sell. However, the last two performances had lost him more money than gaining it.

He was prepared to storm into the managers' office and release his rage when he caught sight of Tori Wu speaking to her charge in a hushed tone. Normally Tobias avoided the stone-faced ballet mistress like the plague, but something intrigued him about this conversation she was having.

"I don't understand why you have to leave now?" Christina asked, looking confused at her benefactor's strange behavior.

"I will not be long my dear, just go through the dance as I have taught," Tori muttered as she pulled on a pair of black gloves.

Christina's brown eyes clouded with even more confusion. "But we need your guidance-"

"You will be fine," Tori assured. "Now go on, Christina. I will return shortly."

Christina nodded her head, but still looked worried for her caregiver. Satisfied that the young dancer would not ask any more questions, Tori quickly turned on her heel and headed towards the grand foyer. Intrigued, Tobias quickly followed at a safe distance.

Tori had a carriage waiting for her and gave the driver the directions of her destination. In thirty minutes the carriage came to a stop outside a tall building that looked as inviting as its cold stony exterior. Tori did not hesitate. She walked up to the door and banged the loud iron knocker that hung in its middle. The door opened a few seconds later, a chamber maid curtseying as Tori brushed her way inside.

"I need to speak with Monsieur Lovelace, is he available?" she asked the maid as she stripped her gloves off.

"Right this way, madam," the maid replied softly, showing Tori to an oak door at the end of a dull dilapidated hallway. The maid knocked on the door to which a gruff male voice grunted permission to enter. Tori followed the maid inside, thanking the girl after she was introduced.

Monsieur Frederick Lovelace was a short middle aged man, with a greasy black beard and mustache, and he appeared to have several teeth missing. The man also wore excessive amounts of jewelry, not to mention outrageous colors and fabrics on his body. No wonder the building looked so drab. the man spent every penny on his own attire.

"Have a seat, madam," Lovelace said politely, although he was already admiring the purse she held in her hands.

"What can I do for you?" he asked again, the same polite friendly tone in his voice, however Tori did not smile or bat one eye as she sat, her back straight, across from the greasy man.

"I understand, monsieur, that you are a…private investigator of sorts?" she asked, eyeing him with much contempt. Lovelace, however, had not recognized her distrust in him and was beaming from ear to ear.

"Indeed madam! In fact, while I am a humble man, I do pride myself on being the best that one can find here in Paris!"

"So I've heard," she muttered.

Lovelace continued beaming. "Yes, I have worked for many of the great families here in Paris, including the Countess LaGrange! Why, she hired me to find her sister who had been missing for twenty-five years…twenty-five years, can you imagine! I had very little information to go on, but I did find her! She was staying in Moscow, now that I remember-"

"Yes, yes, that's all very good monsieur, but I need you to find three people," Tori interrupted.

Lovelace's' expression changed at her words. "Oh I see…well…I must say madam, it will be somewhat more expensive, you see…tracking three people down. Not to mention that it may take longer-"

"Do not fear monsieur, you will be paid quite handsomely." Gone was Lovelace's apprehension, his beaming smile returning at once to her words.

"Splendid!" he exclaimed before pulling himself closer to the desk before him. "Now who are these individuals that you'd like me to find?"

Tori watched him closely as he took notes on what she was saying.

"The man's name is Andrew Prior," she explained. "He's in his late forties to early fifties, tall, thin, with graying brown hair. He's American, but has been living in France for quite some time," she paused to be sure that Lovelace had gotten everything she said thus far. "He has two children. The boy's name is Caleb, and he a younger version of his father in his twenties. The girl's name is Beatrice, she is his youngest child. She's slightly shorter than her father and brother, with straight dirty-blonde hair, dark blue grey eyes. About eighteen years in age," she explained.

Lovelace nodded his head as he wrote down the descriptions.

"And you believe that they are in Paris?" he inquired. Tori shrugged her shoulders.

"Monsieur Prior and his children worked very briefly for the Palais Garnier. The son is pianist," she explained, before adding, "I would appreciate it, monsieur, if you left the Opera House and those that are connected to it…out of your list of inquiries."

Lovelace' brow furrowed at this, but nodded his head.

"I shall do all that I can madam," he said while rising from his chair to show Tori out. "And I shall inform you at once when I learn of anything."

"I would like to be informed within a week, monsieur." Lovelace practically stumbled at her request. In truth, it was more of a demand.

"A week?" he choked. "I beg your pardon madam, but…a week is hardly enough time to learn anything!"

Tori lifted an eyebrow at his words. "I thought you were credited as being the best? After all, did you not tell me that you had been able to find the sister of the Countess LaGrange who had been missing for twenty-five years?"

Lovelace cleared his throat, straightening his jacket.

"Well, I do not wish to brag…but there are those that have esteemed me as such," he explained. "But you must understand madam, the Countess LaGrange was a woman with connections! It is much harder to find, forgive me, an American and his children."

Tori slowly rose from her chair and handed the private investigator two small card. He took the cards, looking most confused, before glancing at the name, his eyes widening as he read it.

"Natalie Prior and Edith Prior?" he gasped.

Tori nodded her head. "Natalie was Monsieur Prior's wife before she died. Monsieur Prior also told me that he was the son of the wealthiest and influential family on all of Chicago."

Lovelace simply glanced back and forth between Tori's calm features and the cards he held in his hand. "I believe, monsieur, since connections are what you seek…those will be good places to begin."

"Indeed," he whispered, tucking the card into his inside coat pocket. "One week…I will contact you and tell you everything that I can."

Tori gave a thin smile to the private investigator before producing a check from her purse and placing it on the desk. Like a greedy child who had just been given candy, Lovelace snatched the check, his eyes wide as he read the numbers.

"As a down payment," she explained, before putting her gloves on and walking towards the door. "I must stress, monsieur, how important it is that you find them…I pray that you will not delay the search."

"No indeed madam," Lovelace replied, tucking the check into his coat pocket and rushing to open the door of his office for the ballet mistress. With a curt nod, Tori walked out of the stone building, leaving the bewildered investigator to take in everything he had just been told.

"Anne!" he cried, and the chambermaid from earlier, came quickly. "I will be out all afternoon, on business…in fact, I will not be able to take any new clients for at least a few weeks," he instructed. The maid gave a small curtsey, handed her employer his hat and walking stick, and opened the door for him.

Lovelace nodded his thanks before descending the stone steps of his building and heading west. He had just gone around the corner when a large silver-tipped walking stick struck out from the shadows to stop him. Lovelace cursed as he nearly tripped over the stick, prepared to unleash his anger at the individual, but swallowed his words as he gazed upon the handsome face of the Vicomte de Sevoy.

Tobias gave a wry smile to the investigator, glancing briefly ahead of him, and watching the coach that carried Tori, head north. "Whatever she's paying you…I'll double, for the same information."

* * *

 **Thank you again for reading and remember to review!**


	16. XV: Changes

**Can I just tell you all how awesome all of you are and how much you want me to keep writing this story? Seriously, I should be thanking each and every one of you, and I hope that this new chapter shows my gratitude. Sorry, I just wanted to say that again because you guys are amazing!**

* * *

 _"I should be as gentle as a lamb."_  
 **― Gaston Leroux**

Eric was pacing in one of the shadowed tunnels of the underground labyrinth. But it wasn't simply any tunnel. It was the tunnel that led to her chamber.

He cursed himself over and over as he paced, feeling like such an idiot for being there. What was he doing there anyway? He ran a hand through his light brown hair, knowing the full reason why. She had called him a monster…and she was right.

Ever since the night he heard her sing and saw her bathing in the lagoon, he did not trust himself around her. Perhaps to others, the girl was meek, plain, and not the highest standard of what Parisian beauty should be. Yet to him, she was beautiful, seductive even, and had the voice like an angel. Music was his greatest passion, and she embodied music. She had shown him countless times that she was a unique woman. She had a spirit that did not cower before him or other men, she stood by those she loved, her nature was kind and selfless, and she was not so easily blinded by the illusions others created in front of her…like the Vicomte de Sevoy. And he still didn't understand why. Why when she had the chance to run away and be free, that she returned above the opera house, and helped nurse him back to health. Perhaps he had been too harsh and felt same sort of recollecting pull that he felt towards her? Eric didn't want to believe it was true despite what he felt. Was it pity that she felt for him? If so, he didn't want it, and perhaps it was another reason besides forgetting about him was why he was so cold to her.

But he knew it was more than that. It was not pity that he saw her give to the others; she had become a close friend to all of them…with the exception of Peter who wanted nothing to do with her…although Eric had noticed that Peter was less grumpy these days.

No, she didn't pity him, pity was the last thing she felt towards him. Perhaps it was just her forgetting about him. Eric sighed, knowing he had been cruel, that he had been ruthless. Though he had warned her he would be hard and demand much from her, but he had been blinded by his own discovery of her voice to forget that the voice belonged to someone, and he had not made that realization until he had her in his arms against the piano.

He groaned as he remembered how she felt in his arms. She was trembling slightly, but it was out of anger and contempt. That was not the way he wanted to feel her against him. Eric knew it was impossible. She would never allow such things to happen, but he longed to feel her tremble willingly in his arms, to feel her sag against him and clutch at him for strength. He groaned again and felt his loins stir at the thought, but he quickly shook the thought from his head.

When Marlene had asked him what he feared, he could not look into the woman's eyes, for the answer would reflect in them. Over several years ago Eric had watched as a woman he believed himself in love with throw herself at another man. He had felt so happy in those days when he wrote her songs and poems, watching her from afar, ready to protect her at all costs if someone dared to attack the beautiful dancer. But Nita was like all the others. A handsome face with money flattered her dancing, filled her head with sweet compliments, and within the blink of an eye, she was on her back with her legs spread wide for the spoiled Vicomte. Eric knew since that day that love was a weakness designed to make men go mad. And that was exactly what he was experiencing all over again with Tris…madness.

So he resorted to treating her like an object instead of a human being. After all, that was how he was treated for the first seventeen years of his life. By being cruel he would not be able to care, and she would come to despise and hate him, which should insure that the damn stirrings within his soul and heart would disappear. But he was wrong… he was so wrong.

He devoted himself to music, composing and conducting, losing himself in his masterpiece. He wrote letters to the mangers, demanding that they prepare for his opera, knowing he could not wait. He wanted it to be performed before the season was over. He demanded for his opera to be the grand closing show for the season. He threatened them, frightened them, even kidnapped Jeanine, and yet still he could not get the girl out of his head. He had gotten to the point when he was able to separate her voice from herself, but that all changed when she refused to sing and he became violent.

He hated himself for that. He had done many things in life that he was not proud of, but he truly felt that was one of his lowest moments.

So here he was. Pacing in the tunnel near her chamber. Marlene didn't tell him to come and apologize, to go and speak with her. He just felt the need to do it himself. But he still felt like such a fool.

"I might as well get this over with," he grumbled to himself. With a sigh, Eric descended down the tunnel, prepared to look like an absolute idiot.

Tris was lying on the bed on her stomach, gazing at the tiny trickling waterfall that poured into the tiny pool. Her throat was beginning to feel better, however the rest of her felt sore from the fight that she had had with Eric. She wanted to hate him, felt she had every right to, but still, no matter how hard she concentrated, there was still a part of her that wanted to get to know him better, to embrace him, to show him that not everyone in the world was cruel, to teach him happiness and…affection?

Tris groaned and buried her face against her pillow, unaware that she had a visitor.

"Is this a bad time?"

Tris gasped and turned around at the sound of Eric's voice. She stared up at him as he stood in the entryway of her chamber, his broad shoulders practically touching both sides. She swallowed the lump in her throat and quickly sat up, smoothing the skirts to the ochre yellow and blue dress that she wore, one of the many costumes he had given her.

"I am not prepared to sing, if that is what you have come for," she said, trying to sound angry, lifting her chin and looking stubborn. Eric fought the grin that was trying to break free from looking upon her expression.

"I haven't come here to ask you to sing," he explained.

Tris stared him, unsure of what to say next. What was it that he wanted then? The anger on her face disappeared, now replaced by confusion, which Eric could not help but smile a little at. She frowned when she noticed his smile and rose to her feet, squaring her shoulders and meeting his gaze.

"You may see yourself as lord and master of this labyrinth monsieur…but this is my room, therefore I demand that you tell me what business you have and then be gone."

Eric stared at her, somewhat flabbergasted at her words. Then, remembering the reasons as to why he had come in the first place, he too stood straighter and folded his hands behind his back.

"I…I have come to…to…" good God, why was this so hard? He was the Phantom of the Opera, and yet he was acting like an insipid, stumbling schoolboy!

Tris folded her arms across her chest, waiting for him to finish whatever it was that he was having great difficulty with saying. He grimaced at her expression and finally came out with it.

"I've come to apologize." There, he'd said it.

Tris stared at him. That was the last thing she had been expecting.

"I…I beg your pardon?" Eric groaned, hoping he didn't have to repeat himself. Unfortunately, fate appeared to have different plans.

"Fine, I'll say it again if that will suit you. I apologize for the way I treated you…for the way I have been treating you…" he whispered, looking at the cavern wall behind her head, refusing to meet her gaze.

Tris stared at the man who stood before her, tall, broad, dressed in black, his black mask giving off a persona that was sinister. Yet she knew he meant every word.

"The truth is…music has been the only thing that has given me joy in this life," he continued, his gaze never leaving his spot on the wall. "And when I heard your voice…" he paused and looked up at her, his grey eyes catching hers. "I meant it…and I still mean it, your voice is unlike anything…it's…it is exquisite."

He sighed, not being able to think of better words for such a beautiful instrument. Tris opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it when she realized she didn't know what to say. She blushed at his words, her own eyes falling to the floor this time before meeting his gaze again.

"And when I heard you sing that night…I just…you have no idea what this opera means to me," He explained hesitantly, already feeling too exposed. "I have been working on this opera for most of my adult life. But when I heard you sing… I have never felt more inspired…" he whispered, his eyes burning as they gazed upon her.

Tris felt the heat rise in her cheeks, and looked away from him. She could not look at him. She was afraid that if she did, she may melt where she stood.

"I know I have not been the easiest of people to get along with," he grumbled, "and I did warn you that I would be hard, but you were not expecting a slave-driver, I'm sure."

She lifted her eyes then, feeling his genuine regret. "And while I want this opera performed more than anything, with you in the role of Aminta…I do not want to be your task-master."

Tris opened her mouth to protest, but Eric raised his hand to silence her. "I do however want to be your tutor, and a proper tutor at that. Someone who cares about his protégée and not simply the music she is singing."

There, he had said his peace. He wasn't expecting anything from her, and he wasn't saying he would stop being strict, but he was hoping that she would still sing for him. The idea of her not singing again, the idea of him not being able to hear her angelic voice…it was more than he could bear! Tris nodded her head slowly, looking down quickly so that he would not be able to see the blush on her cheeks.

"Thank you…" she whispered. There was a long pause before she realized he was waiting breathlessly to hear whether she would still sing for him.

"Yes, I would like to continue learning with you, monsieur." After all, what choice did she have? It was still her only key to freedom. Eric wanted to smile, but he contained himself and gave a small nod of his head.

"Thank you, mademoiselle," he said simply. "And…you can just call me Eric."

Where had that come from? Eric couldn't believe what he just said and imagined what an idiot he must have sounded like; however, all those thoughts drifted away as Tris whispered his name for the first time since he met her as a child.

"Eric…you're welcome, Eric." Eric gave another bow, turning to leave, but stopping quickly.

"How is your throat feeling?" he asked, his eyes lit with concern.

"It is getting better, thank you," Tris whispered, smiling a small smile despite herself. Eric was glad to hear it, but his concern was still etched across his features.

"Marlene was right, and I'm sorry I pushed you despite it. Tomorrow you continue resting your voice. If you're feeling up to singing the day after, then we shall begin again."

Tris smiled and thanked him again. It was hard to believe…but it did seem that he truly had changed!

"You're very welcome mademoiselle," he replied, and then turned to go again.

"Tris!" she called out. Eric who was standing in the shadowed entryway emerged back inside, like an animal of prey rising from the shadows. Tris had to grip the bed post in order to keep her balance from the seductive sight.

"Actually it's Beatrice. Tris is just- never mind. It's only right, I think," she quickly explained. "That if I am permitted to call you Eric…then I wish for you to call me by my name."

"Tris," he practically purred, and she tightened her grip on the bed post, both liking how he said her name. "No, I like Tris. It suits you better."

"Goodnight, Tris," he whispered, and then without any warning, he leaned in and took her hand, raising it to his lips and kissing the knuckles ever so softly. A sharp current of electricity streaked throughout her body.

"Goodnight…Eric," she whispered, watching him turn and leave her alone in her chamber, with nothing but the strange feelings that scorched through her heart to keep her company.

* * *

Tobias tapped his cane impatiently against his boot as he sat and waited for Lovelace to organize himself in his tiny cold office.

It had been one week since their last encounter in the alley near Lovelace's building. One week since Tobias cut a deal with the private investigator to inform him of everything he was seeking out for Tori Wu. And he was beginning to lose his patience…

Things were getting complicated with the police keeping Prior and his son behind bars. They were both proving to be an expensive chore. Tobias had not expected a whole month to go by without word from Tris. The police themselves wanted to be rid of the men. Twice he had to convince them not to send them to the nearest asylum, and hold them just a little longer.

When he learned that Tori was seeking the aid of a private investigator, Tobias felt that at last an answer to his prayers was coming! But now he was having serious doubts as Lovelace clumsily cleared his desk from the piles of papers and cigarette butts that littered it.

"I beg your pardon monsieur, I was not expecting you…" he quickly explained, hurrying as best he could.

Tobias gave an aggravated sigh. "Do you have any information at all, monsieur? I am a busy man and-"

"Oh! Oh I do monsieur! Information that you will take great pleasure in, I believe!"

Tobias eyed the private investigator, feeling serious doubt, but waving his hand at the man. "Have at it then."

Lovelace straightened the tie at his neck and folded his hands on the desk before proceeding. "I am not sure if you are aware monsieur, that other than Le Rossignol, the connections that Prior and his children have in society."

Tobias rolled his eyes at this. "What sort of connections do an administrative widower, a pianist, and a costume girl have?"

"Well, very large ones, monsieur," Lovelace grinned, before taking one of the papers he had shuffled through and passing it towards the Vicomte. "This is the birth certificate of Andrew Prior."

Tobias eyed the piece of paper and handed it back to Lovelace. "And this means…?"

"Well, you see, nearly twenty-two years ago his family discovered him to be in a state of marriage that was most disagreeable."

Tobias waved his hand in an irritated manner, urging Lovelace to continue. He hated dramatics.

"This did not sit well with his grandmother, Edith Prior- who was formerly known as Edith Fairchild, the only child of British textile tycoon Nathan Fairchild and Lady Verity Chamberlain! Apparently, although no one entirely knows how, the young lad met a young met a young lady name Natalie- Le Rossignol herself!"

Tobias practically fell out of his chair. He stared at Lovelace, the expression on his face both shocked and disbelieving. "What are you saying?"

Lovelace grinned. "That the children produced from the disagreeable marriage…are the grandchildren of two of the wealthiest families in the United States and Britain!"

Tobias was in total shock. Tris Prior, the costume girl…had blue blood running through her veins?

"Tell me more," he urged, leaning forward and eating up every piece of information.

"Well," Lovelace continued, putting on some spectacles and leafing through some more notes. "As you can imagine, the marriage was never accepted by the family and Prior was shunned from both them and society, even after Le Rossignol rose to fame in the operatic world. Yet he lived quite happily with his wife on the outskirts in Chicago where they had their first and children, a son and a daughter, named Caleb and Beatrice."

Tobias nodded his head. "You have proof that this was the exact man?"

"I made some inquiries with my associates in Chicago with the household of his parents, as well as have them travel to the home that Prior and his family lived," his expression changed to one of sadness. "Quite tragic actually; while Prior and his bride lived contently with their children and her career, his family never spoke to him again, shunning him completely, and after his poor wife died five years ago, Prior used all his money to pay for his wife's treatment and they refused to see him and left him and his children with nothing."

"Yes, yes, extremely tragic," Tobias groaned sarcastically, who couldn't care less. "But tell me about the grandmother's family?"

François shook his head. "Since Madame Prior was an only child, the inheritance was given to her and new family- one of the wealthiest heiresses that went and married abroad. She was highly upset with the marriage, but never wrote her grandson out of her will. He was promised a hefty allowance after the death of his father, and that allowance would be passed on to any children that he may have; However, since he and his family cut off all ties from one another, he has no knowledge of it."

Tobias stared at Lovelace with wide eyes. Tris was rich. She had a fortune waiting for her…and from the sound of things, the girl was not even aware of it.

"Edith Prior and Andrew Prior's parents?" Tobias asked, leaning against François' desk, desperate to learn all that he could.

Lovelace sighed. "Sadly, Edith died about fifteen years ago, and Prior's mother passed on three years ago. My American associates informed me that he is in a bed ridden state. As you can guess, he is a very old man, with extremely poor health and it is believed he will not last past this upcoming winter."

"Utter tragedy," Tobias whispered, images of the old hag and her familys' money appearing before him.

"And that's not all!"

Tobias awoke from his day dream and stared at Lovelace like a starving person. "Tell me…"

"Well, the grandson and granddaughter are his only living relatives beside the prodigal son. Elder Prior had three children, three sons. I learned that the two sons had died years ago. One was in the army and died in battle while the other…well, sad to say, he had a bit of a gambling problem, and he was shot when caught cheating at cards," he sighed. "The poor wife caught pneumonia during the winter. So, if it is as the household has told associate, who told me, and the will has not be changed…not only does this Caleb and Beatrice receive their father's fortune…but also the grandmother's fortune as well."

Tobias was like a dog, salivating for a beef bone. Tris was rich. She was an heiress.

…And she was totally unaware of it.

"Monsieur?"

Tobias awoke from his thoughts and looked at Lovelace with wild eyes. "Have you told Madame Wu any of this?"

Lovelace shook his head. "I have not seen her yet, but I am expecting her at some point today. Shall I tell her the same news?"

"No!" Tobias barked, before quickly calming himself, running a hand through his short brunette hair and fixing his jacket. "No…in fact, tell her nothing. Simply explain to her that you were unable to learn anything from the tip that she gave you but that you will continue trying."

Lovelace nodded his head, watching the Vicomte intently as he rose to his feet and began to pace across the small office. Tris was an heiress! A single woman of great fortune! Tobias knew that one day he'd have to marry in order to create an heir for his own title, but he had resorted to waiting another five years before taking such steps. Yet now…now the lovely Mademoiselle Prior had landed on his lap with her great fortune; and to think he was only interested in bedding her!

No, now Tris Prior proved to be a much "worthier" cause for discovery. He had to find her before she learned about her fortune, before her grandfather died! By marrying her, he, being her husband, would come into full rights for the fortune that all went with it. And by God, he could use some of that money. His own gambling debts were climbing higher and higher, and the Opera business as of late was proving to be more of a headache. But with Tris as his wife…it was the beginning to a life of endless possibilities! He just had to figure out what to do with the old man and his son…perhaps they could still serve his purpose as an object for blackmail?

"Monsieur?" Lovelace asked nervously, not sure if it was wise to interrupt the pensiveness of the Vicomte.

"Have you learned anything else?" Tobias asked.

Lovelace shook his head. "Not yet monsieur, but soon! I understand that Monsieur Prior and his children were last seen at the Paris Opera House-"

"Forget Prior and the boy," Tobias ordered. "In fact, don't waste any more of your time in this investigation on them. I want you to spend all of your time, morning, noon, and night, on learning the whereabouts of Prior's charming daughter."

Lovelace opened his mouth, prepared to protest, but remembered the handsome payment the Vicomte had offered him and remained silent. "What shall I tell Madame Wu?"

"Anything. Make up whatever you want," Tobias grumbled, waving his hand in a dismissive manner. "But find me that girl…and I promise you Lovelace, I will make it very worth your while."

Tobias left the stone building of the private investigator, the look on his face extremely pleasant and satisfied. He climbed into his carriage, whistling a jolly tune, much to the surprise of his driver.

"Home, monsieur?" the driver asked.

"No my good man, we have some shopping to do!" Tobias said with good humor, with a hidden malicious grin. "I have a wedding to plan…"

* * *

 **Thank you again for reading and remember to review!**


	17. XVI: Friendship

**Can I just tell you all how awesome all of you are and how much you want me to keep writing this story? Seriously, I should be thanking each and every one of you, and I hope that this new chapter shows my gratitude. Sorry, I just wanted to say that again because you guys are amazing!**

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 _"You will be the happiest of women."_  
 **― Gaston Leroux**

Tris awoke that morning feeling energized and happy, a feeling she had not had in a long time. She stretched her arms over her head and yawned before she realized what day it was.

Today she would begin singing again.

One week ago Eric had told her she needed to rest her voice. Originally it was for a day, but he later informed her that a week would truly be more suitable and thus gave her strict instructions on how to take care of her voice, from drinking Marlene's special tea to doing breathing exercises that would help her draw upon the strength of her diaphragm for support rather than her throat.

Tris had to admit, when he informed her of this, she was somewhat disappointed.

Truth was, her voice and throat felt much better; however she followed her tutor's instructions, although she was saddened by the simple fact that it would be a while before she could rehearse with him again.

She didn't know why she was eager to rehearse with him, after all, the other times had been grueling and stressful; yet now…after he came and apologized to her, she found that she couldn't wait to see him…and be alone with him again.

She liked how her voice pleased him. She tried to not let his praises go to her head, but now and then she couldn't help but feel like a star, a prima donna in the making. She just hoped and prayed that if she ever got her chance to perform on stage in a leading role, she would not become like Jeanine.

The days that passed during her resting period were long and rather dull. She tried to pass her time by doing specific activities, such as helping Marlene repair holes and sew new clothes for the others, to being an audience for Uriah who was so excited at his progress with learning to read. Will and Lynn showed her how to get around the tunnels of Eric's labyrinth, and what to watch out for if she ever got lost. Tris was adapting more and more to her underground home. Her eyesight was growing keener in the darkness, and her ability to know what time it was despite the shadows that surrounded them was improving as well. Even Peter was beginning to become comfortable with her presence, even though he continued to keep his distance. She recalled how earlier in the week the three men came to her chamber announcing that they had specific instructions from Eric to build Tris a fireplace. They set to work right away, Peter supervising for the most part, demanding that it be perfect. Several hours later, their work was complete, and Tris had a cozy little fireplace to keep her chamber warm as the late autumn nights grew colder and colder. She thanked all of them and it was Peter who replied a simple, and somewhat gruff, "you're welcome", before turning and leaving. Tris could have sworn she saw the hint of a smirk on his lips, but she knew that he would never admit it.

The week went on slowly, and while she was grateful for the company of Marlene, Uriah, Will, Lynn, and yes, even Peter… but the person she longed to be with most kept himself hidden away in his chamber, composing.

Sometime late at night, when Tris was still wide awake from the odd dreams, she would lie in bed and listen to him playing his organ. She had never realized what a beautiful instrument the organ was until she heard him play it. Sometimes he would play sonatas by the great composers, other times he would play what she assumed were his own creations. But all of them were beautiful, and she would be lulled to sleep by their haunting lullaby.

It was two days before the end of her resting period when she finally saw Eric again. She was in her chamber, sewing a patch onto one of the dresses he had given her which she had accidentally ripped, when he announced his dark presence by silently standing in her entryway, not saying a word until she noticed his great form casting a dark shadow upon the ground.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, his voice deep and rich, yet filled with genuine concern.

Tris couldn't help but smile, and quickly rose from the chair she was sitting at, patting out the crinkles in her skirt, and walking towards him, her hands folded in front of her.

"Much better, thank you," she said brightly, blushing as she realized how silly she must sound. Eric however smiled at her cheerful tone, his own posture relaxing as well.

"I'm glad to hear it…but we will wait till the week is over before we begin again," he instructed. Tris nodded her head, knowing that was what he would say, however she couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"Are you practicing those exercises like I taught you?" he inquired, fully entering the chamber now and pacing around the small space. Eric couldn't help but feel somewhat out of place. The chamber was small and lovely, with lace and velvet and silk to decorate it and the smell of lavender and rose petals perfuming the air. Basically, it was everything he wasn't. He feared that if he turned too abruptly he may break something!

"Yes, every morning and evening for twenty minutes at a time." Tris smiled a little more.

Eric turned and smiled at her, feeling pride for his young pupil. Things were different now. Her eyes seemed brighter and her face seemed to have this beautiful glow that radiated off her skin despite the darkness that surrounded her. He too felt the difference; once upon a time he feared that being close to her would cause him to lose control…yet now, he had resorted to not only be strictly "professional", but somewhat friendly as well. He was sure that by behaving in such a manner, he would be able to keep his emotions in check, and not stress so much about their next encounter. Plus, his compositions were being inspired with new intensity and life! Indeed he was glad things were changing.

"Good, keep it up. When we next meet to rehearse, your diaphragm will be able to help you with those higher notes, as well as perfecting your breath control for the longer sets." Tris nodded her head, a small sad frown forming on her lips as she saw him turn and head out of the chamber.

"Oh!" he turned around and pulled something out of the pocket of his jacket. "I thought that perhaps you would appreciate these to pass the time?"

Eric felt somewhat foolish as he held out a bulky paper package, imagining what he must look like. Tris was surprised by the gesture, and noticing his embarrassment, quickly took the package from his hands, blushing as their fingers brushed for a moment, and then quickly unwrapping it. Eric winced.

"You really don't need to do that now-" but it was too late as she had unwrapped it and gasped.

"The Bronte sisters…the poems of Lord Byron…and a collection of gothic short stories!" Eric was not expecting the reaction to which she had. Her face lit up like a star, eyes glowing with happiness.

"Oh thank you so much! I have missed reading, especially books like these!" Suddenly, without warning, Tris threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Eric did not know what to do! He was surprised to say the least! Before he had a chance to react, Trus suddenly released him, her cheeks aflame as she realized what she had done.

In that brief moment, Eric caught the smell of her hair, which reminded him of fresh cut roses and jasmine. He felt the smoothness of her cheek against his neck as she stood on her tip toes to hug him, and he felt the gentle swell of her breasts against his chest, which caused his body to stir with passionate awakening.

As for Tris, she had felt the strength of his muscles beneath his finely made clothes, and there was a pleasant fragrance about him…the smell of candle wax from the long nights he stayed up composing, and incense that he had burning in his chamber. It was a sweet masculine smell. She blushed for she did not know what men should smell like, but she believed that they should smell the way Eric smelt.

"Thank you," she muttered, blushing furiously that she actually hugged him. "How…how did you know?"

Eric straightened his vest and shirt, his posture going stiff again.

"I had the book of Byron's poems…sometimes I look to them for inspiration while composing. As for the others, I found them…above…" In truth, the previous night Eric had gone above to the streets of Paris, keeping himself hidden in the shadows. There was an old bookshop near the Opera House that Tori had gathered many of the books for himself and the others. Not being on present speaking terms with her was not making life easy for all of them, but Eric saw a boy in the same alley he occupied, looking very hungry. With his hood tipped low and hiding most of his face and tattoos, he promised the boy several gold coins for food if he would fetch some books for him in the shop ahead. The boy eagerly took the list of books Eric had given him and set about on his task. Pleased with what the boy was able to get, Eric kept his promise and awarded the boy with enough money to not only feed himself and his family for that night, but for a whole week.

"Uriah had told me how much you love to read…" he explained. "He also talked about the type of books you liked. I just thought that perhaps these would help, with passing the time…" he could kill himself for how foolish he sounded.

But Tris was more than happy. Books like these were childhood friends to her, and more than that. They reminded her of her mother and of the nights they would stay up late finishing the chapter they were currently reading, and then having to read the next for fear of what would happen to the heroine and her lover.

"Thank you so much," Tris whispered, so moved by his kindness that she felt some tears behind her lashes. She quickly blinked them away, feeling embarrassed to actually cry in front of him.

Eric gave her a soft smile before incline his head with a small bow, as he seemed to do whenever they were together, which made her feel like a princess. Before he turned to go, he glanced at her fireplace, seeing the small but warm glowing embers burning in its center.

"Are you warm at night?" he asked, once again showing her some genuine caring and concern. "Is the fireplace doing its duty?"

Tris smiled and nodded her head. "Yes, thank you, it's very lovely."

Eric smiled and bowed once more, before retreating into the shadows beyond her chamber. Tris listened as his footsteps faded away into the distance before jumping onto her bed with a large flop. She grinned as she picked up one of the books, settling back for a wonderful adventure of gothic mystery and romance.

And that was how she spent her last few days of resting. Now the morning had come when she would begin again. A part of her was somewhat worried. Had things truly changed between her and Eric? True, they seemed to be friendlier now, and he was showing her more kindness than before, but what would happen when she started singing again? Would the task-master resurface? She knew that he would still be demanding and strict, but would he be considerate and caring as well?

She shook her worries away, feeling that today was the beginning of something new. Today she would sing for him not because she had to, but because she wanted to. She loved music just as much as she loved her books. And she would show him the same passion he had for music, and perhaps then they could truly grow into what she hoped for, more than anything…friends.

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Yeah... I think this chapter was a little OOC for them, but yay Eris fluff! R&R


	18. XVII: Lessons

**Can I just tell you all how awesome all of you are and how much you want me to keep writing this story? Seriously, I should be thanking each and every one of you, and I hope that this new chapter shows my gratitude. Sorry, I just wanted to say that again because you guys are amazing!**

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 _"Close your eyes and let music set you free."_  
 **― The Phantom of the Opera**

"And again…" Eric commanded, his long fingers brushing over the keys of the piano with both delicacy and precision.

Tris nodded her head and took a deep breath, singing the familiar cords once more.

"Think of me… Think of me fondly When we've said goodbye… Remember me, Once in a while Please promise me, you'll try. When you find, That once again you long, To take your heart back and be free… If you ever find a moment, Spare a thought for me."

Eric stopped playing and Tris bit her lip. What had she done wrong now? They had been doing lessons for about two hours now, and for the last hour they had been working on Chalumeau's Hannibal. Tris had wanted to work on Don Juan Triumphant, but Eric felt that they had to work up to that point for her to sing the opera.

When she first arrived, Tris decided to wear a black gown with lace ruffles that she remembered Eric admiring once in the past. When he first caught sight of her entering his music chamber, his breath caught in his throat. She looked beautiful. Beyond lovely, and it wasn't the dress, for he had seen her wear that dress before. It was the way her hair fell about her face, the way her blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight, the way her smile spread across her features. Eric rose from the piano bench and bowed, to which she gave a gentle curtsy.

"I'm ready to begin," she greeted, with a warm smile.

Eric smirked, feeling an actual smile threatening to break across his own hard features. She approached the piano with confidence, ready to sing, but before they began, Eric had her go through a few breathing exercises once more, just to be sure she was ready. He cursed himself when he realized that his eyes had drifted to the rise and fall of her breasts while she went through the exercises. A professional instructor does not leer at his student, Eric inwardly reprimanded. He then began to play some scales on the piano, to which Tris sang back to him.

After the scales, Eric chose to play some Italian arias for Tris to sing.

"On 'la'," he instructed, and she followed his lead. "You need to support yourself more during this bar. Sneak a breath in if you must, although you need to try and get to a point when you can fully rely on your breath support to get you through."

Tris nodded her head and did as he instructed, going over the arias several times before Eric felt she was finally gaining confidence in her breath support to get her through. At this point, he wanted to try one more aria before he felt it was time to move to Don Juan.

For the last hour they had been practicing various songs that the lead soprano in Hannibal, Elissa, sung in the opera, and for the last twenty minutes, they had been working meticulously on one of Elissa's main songs, "Think of Me." If Tris had to pick, she would have to admit that this was her favorite song of Elissa's; however, there were little things that caused Eric to moan and groan over before they could move to Don Juan. She needed to carry the notes further, she needed to remember her cutoffs, she needed to save her breath for this bar, not that one, yet Eric's suggestions were not like before. Yes, it was obvious that he was demanding perfection, but now, instead of dreading to sing, Tris felt encouraged, dauntless, even empowered, to do better. She too wanted it to be perfect, and so each time he asked her to sing it again, she did, with new confidence that she was going to get it better.

She looked at him after he had her stop, wondering what she had done wrong and what she needed to do better. She waited for his instructions, but instead, he was staring at her, a small smile slowly spreading across his face.

"That was perfect," he whispered. Tris stared back at him.

"Really? Because…I thought that perhaps I stumbled a little there with those notes around the second measure-"

"Good God, I've created a monster," he laughed, grinning up at her and smiling as he saw her smile back. "You sang that beautifully, and I would like it very much if you could sing the whole thing now, no stopping, and with as much confidence that I know you possess," he instructed, his voice dark and sensuous, causing shivers to run up and down her spine. She nodded her head and listened as the introduction to the song began again.

"Think of me… Think of me fondly When we've said goodbye… Remember me, Once in a while Please promise me, you'll try. When you find, That once again you long, To take your heart back and be free… If you ever find a moment, Spare a thought for me."

He continued playing, conducting her with nods of his head, and Tris continued singing, closing her eyes and pouring her heart into the song.

"We never said, Our love was evergreen, Or as unchanging as the sea– But if you can still remember, Stop and think of me…"

"Think of all the things we've shared and seen– Don't think about the things which might have been…"

She opened her eyes then and looked directly at Erik.

"Think of me, Think of me waking, Silent and resigned. Imagine me, Trying too hard To put you from my mind. Recall those days, Look back on all those times, Think of things we'll never do– There will never be a day, when I won't think of you!"

Their eyes were locked with one another and Eric continued playing, for this was a large orchestral interlude in the middle of the song. Her voice was like heaven. He had never known such exquisiteness and ferocity that could come from someone who looked so meek and stiff could exist in such a world. And while their gazes were ofocused on each other, Trid didn't miss a beat, she continued singing when the interlude ended, closing her eyes and feeling the music wrap around her like a blanket.

"We never said, Our love was evergreen, Or as unchanging as the sea– But if you can still remember, Stop and think…"

She paused. In the song, she was supposed to continue and end like she had earlier, but instead she seemed to be lost in her thoughts. Eric was both puzzled and worried, and his playing immediately came to a stop. But before he could ask her what was wrong, her voice, like a crisp clear bell, rang throughout the cavern.

"A-a-a-a-ahhh! A-a-a-ahhh! A-a-a-a-a-a-a-ahhhhhhhhhhhh…." She carried the notes out as if she were performing a scale on stage, leaving Eric at a loss.

Then, his instinct for music kicked in, and his fingers came crashing down on the piano, matching what her voice was doing for a large climatic finish.

"Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhoooof me!"

His fingers hit the final cords of the piano, and they both let out long ragged breaths, each surprised and startled by what had just happened.

Tris slowly opened her eyes, the spell of the song coming to an end, and her lips curled in a beautiful smile. She had no idea what had just happened, but it was like the music had urged her to make the song her own, to possess it, to lose herself in its passionate cords. She looked at Eric, her smile bright and wide, but it quickly disappeared as she saw the dark expression on his face. He was displeased.

"I…I'm sorry," she whispered, her cheeks turning a bright shade of red. "I…please, forgive me, I don't know what came over me…I just…I thought…"

"That you would improve the song?" he asked, lifting his unmasked eyebrow.

Tris paled.

"Oh no! No, it's beautiful the way it is! I would never dream of-"

"There is no need to apologize," Eric interrupted, his voice entirely sincere. Tris stared at him, trying to read his eyes, to see if he meant it, and was surprised to see that he did!

"It was beautiful," he whispered. "You did something that I had never dreamed possible…and I am extremely impressed- and I don't say for anyone."

Tris opened her mouth to protest, but Eric lifted a hand.

"No, I mean it. You improved the song, greatly, better than Chalumleau had originally written it."

Tris was unsure what to say. She was flattered by his words, but she also felt embarrassed and proud simultaneously for what she had done.

"Eric, I want you to know…"

"I think we have had enough rehearsal for today. We'll start with Don Juan tomorrow," he said shortly, his eyes not meeting hers. Tris bit her lip, feeling that she had indeed done something wrong.

"Already?" she whispered. In the past, they would sometimes rehearse the whole day. "But it's only been two hours-"

"It was wrong of me to force you to sing all that time before," he simply said, swallowing his pride. "A good tutor knows when it is time to end for the day, and today is a perfect time. We have reached perfection and progress today…there is no point with trying to overdo it."

"But-"

"Please," he whispered, raising a hand and rising from the piano bench, his height and width towering above her. They were so close that they could feel the other breathing. "Don't apologize for what you have done…"

His hand reached out to brush away a few strands of hair that had fallen across her cheek. Tris stood frozen as she felt the gentle brush of his leather-clad fingertips. Eric himself could have sworn that despite the glove, he could feel the softness of her skin.

"I want you to promise me something…" his voice was rich and silky, his gaze hypnotic and locked with her own. Tris knew that no matter what he asked, she would not be able to deny him.

"I want you to promise me that you'll never hold back, that you'll always share your thoughts, your ideas, and your feelings when it comes to music," his fingers gently continued brushing her cheek, his own eyes drowning within hers. He was no longer angry towards her not remembering him. He had to put aside his feelings over the aspect for his opera and for her to sing.

"I want there to be honesty between us…will you promise me this?" Tris read the plea in his eyes as he touched her as if she were made of hand-cut glass. Somehow, she found her voice, and quickly answered him.

"Yes," she whispered. "I promise you."

Eric felt relief flood him at her promise, and reluctantly withdrew his hand. He had been lost in her voice, in her song, and now simply in her presence.

It frightened him.

"Now," he cleared his throat, moving away from her. "I suggest you go and rest your voice, and we'll begin again tomorrow."

Tris watched him as he gathered his parchment together and continued to move further and further away from her. She suddenly felt very cold, and wrapped her arms around her body, knowing that she must go, but wanting to stay more than anything. She was scared. Scared of the feelings he was stirring within her, scared of the fragmented dreams and memories, and scared of what it all meant. Could one's opinion, one's outlook, and one's very feelings towards a person change overnight or within a week? She would have said no once upon a time, but now, as she stood in the presence of the Phantom of the Opera…she had to admit that yes, it could happen. She did not see this man as her enemy anymore. She wanted to call him friend. And her heart…she was so confused with how her heart wanted to know him... and yet feeling as though she's known him for so long.

"Goodnight," she whispered, giving a small curtsy, to which he responded with an incline of his head. A small part of her had hoped he would reach out and take her hand once again and kiss it, but he made no such gesture, and it was just as well, she thought. But before she left, she turned to him and said, "I just…I want you to know that…you may come and visit me whenever you like…" she felt the heat rise in her cheeks, knowing how silly she must sound, but wanting him to know that he was welcome.

"Goodnight," she quickly said, before picking up her skirts and rushing out of there before he could say anything to her.

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Yeah... I think this chapter was a little OOC for them, but yay Eris fluff! R&R


	19. XVIII: Discovery

**Hello again after a month long absence! I am so sorry that I have taken this long for an update, but thank you for being patient and I hope you all enjoy the new chapter!**

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 _But his voice filled my spirit_

 _with a strange, sweet sound..._

 _In that night there was music in my mind..._

 _And through music my soul began to soar!_

 _And I heard as I'd never heard before_...

 _ **The Phantom of the Opera**_

The rehearsals that followed the lesson when Tris sang "Think of Me" were very much the same. For two whole weeks, the two of them met, speaking politely to one another, sharing thoughts on the music at hand, as well as insights. Unlike the past, Eric was curious to what Tris thought of the music, especially his music, and if she had any ideas for improvements. He was civil to her, demanding, but cordial still. Every day he had something good to say about her singing, about how quickly she was learning, how greatly she was improving, and how proud he was as her teacher.

And that was the extent of their time together.

Tris was grateful for it. She liked being with Eric and looked forward to their lessons together. But the lessons always seemed to end far too early, and after the lesson was finished, she would not see him again until the next day at the next rehearsal.

And it was driving her insane.

She knew she was his student and he was her tutor, and thus, he was acting extremely professional as a good tutor should. But she longed for him to stop being that way, to open up somewhat, to talk to her and ask her about her feelings and thoughts to things other than music. Was music all he thought about? She knew the answer was yes, for after every rehearsal, he would keep himself hidden away in his chamber, to compose and work on his opera.

For two weeks this continued, and Tris did not know what to do. She felt she was being silly, that she had no right to complain, after all, anything was an improvement over how their lessons used to be, and that was something she did not want to go back to. But when she was in her chamber and she heard noises outside, she would stiffen and hold her breath, hoping it would be Eric. But every time that happened, it was Uriah or Marlene, coming to see her or letting her know that dinner was ready.

Tris had gotten into the habit of eating her dinner with the others. She preferred it instead of eating alone in her chamber. There was a small dining area near the cavern that the others slept in, it contained a simple table with seven chairs; the seventh chair always unoccupied. The meals were not fancy and often meager, but it was the company that Tris looked forward to the most; at dinner she would hear Uriah telling her about his progress with reading, Marlene and Will prattling on about the gossip they had heard from the ballet through the pipes in their dormitories, while Peter would grunt and complain about something, and Lynn would end up joining Peter in an argument. Yet the dinners were always wonderful and pleasant, no matter what the talk was about, and Tris would share her news on her lessons. But her eyes would often drift to the vacant chair at the table and a look of sadness would pass over her face.

She missed him dearly, and she missed him even more when she could hear him playing his music into the night.

It was extremely early one morning when Tris was awakened by something soft, wet, and cold hitting her cheek. Her face contorted as she wiped away at the intruding coldness, but she felt it again and opened her eyes.

Above her head, tiny white flakes were falling from one of the small cracks in the cavern's ceiling. She scrambled out of bed, her arms wrapping around her body, as the cold hit her. She lifted her hand to where the flakes were falling, catching a few in her palm and feeling them melt against her skin.

"Tris!" Tris whirled around to see Uriah, panting and grinning as he stood in the entryway of her chamber.

"Come and see!" he exclaimed happily, before disappearing. Curious, Tris quickly grabbed her dressing gown and followed the joyful hunchback, hearing his cries of excitement coming in the direction of where the underground lagoon was. She finally reached him, seeing him jump up and down at the shoreline, and before she could ask him what had him so excited, she saw his reason…and her breath was taken away.

The ceiling of the great cavern above the lagoon had many holes that moonlight would stream through. Now, along with the fading light of the moon, were thousands of snowflakes that flew above the water like swarms of butterflies, sparkling in the light like diamonds. Uriah was grinning happily, his tongue out to catch the flakes.

"See?" he cried. "Snow! It's snowing!" he lifted his arms above his head and began to dance around, laughing as the flakes tickled his face. Tris laughed and found Uriah's enthusiasm contagious; soon her own hands were lifted above her body, and her feet were twirling around in a circle. She grinned and giggled as she felt the snow hit her face, her eyes closing as the flakes stuck to her lashes.

"Master!"

Tris stopped dead in her tracks, her eyes flying open at Uriah's words.

There, wrapped in the shadows, stood Eric, his body somewhat hunched, his arms, wrapped inside his coat, were folded across his chest, and the only thing that shown in the darkness was the soft reflection of the moonlight against his mask. And yet his eyes, which were locked on her, burned through her very soul. Tris' hands went to the collar of her dressing gown, clutching at its ends, her knuckles turning white. Slowly, he emerged from his hiding place, coming towards both her and Uriah.

"Isn't this wonderful, Master?" Uriah asked happily, his tongue hanging out to catch a few more flakes.

"Yes Uriah," Eric answered, however his grey gaze never left Tris' face.

"This means that Christmas will soon be here!" Uriah cried, his giant arms lifting heavenward to catch more snowflakes. He then turned his attention to Tris. "I love Christmas! We get presents, and Marlene cooks us a feast, and sometimes…sometimes-"

"Calm down Uriah," Eric said gently, a small smile coming to his lips as he looked at the hunchback's excitement. Uriah blushed, but he continued hopping around happily. Tris smiled softly as well, turning her attention to Uriah.

"You celebrate Christmas?" she asked, somewhat surprised. Uriah grinned and nodded his head.

"Oh yes! We each get a present…sometimes I get a new book! Or Marlene will make me something! And there's a feast…and we play games…and sing songs…and Will reads from his bible, and-" Uriah nearly tripped over his two feet from his excited hopping, but Eric reached out and caught the hunchback's arm, helping him find his balance.

"Thank you Master," he whispered, blushing from embarrassment, but still very excited.

"You should go back to bed Uriah," Eric instructed. "It isn't even dawn yet."

Tris watched Eric as he said these words, and Uriah nodded his head, agreeing with his master that it was very early, and then dashing back down the tunnel he had come from.

"Goodnight Tris!" he called back, waving before leaving her alone in Eric's presence. Tris grinned and waved back at him, all too soon very much aware that she was alone with the Phantom.

A silence passed between them for a while. The awkwardness of the moment was almost more than Tris could take.

"Is it really so close to Christmas?" she asked, her hands tightening about her robe. She had lost track of what date it was since she had come there. Eric's arms folded behind his back, his body straightening upwards, his gaze steady on the flakes that fell to the water.

"Yesterday was the first day of December," he said simply, his gaze remaining on the lagoon.

As for Tris, she could not believe how much time had passed since she had come to be there. It was winter already, Christmas would be coming in a matter of weeks, and she had no idea how quickly time had passed. She wondered what her father and brother were doing, if they were alright, and her heart ached at the sadness of missing them.

"I finished it last night," Eric whispered, his words interrupting her thoughts. Tris turned to him, her gaze one of confusion. Without looking at her, he answered her question.

"The last song for _Don Juan_ ," he explained. "I want the company to begin rehearsing for it after the new year."

Tris' breath caught in her throat at his words.

"So soon?" she whispered. Eric then turned to look at her.

"There is still some polishing to do here and there…I need to begin planning the stage directions, the lighting and art design, not to mention cleaning up the overture, but for the most part…yes, it is finished." He couldn't help but feel pleased with himself, and he looked at her face, his smile quickly fading at the worried pensive look that spread across her features.

"What's wrong?" he asked. Tris looked away, shaking her head.

"Nothing just… I'm surprised, that's all…" she tightened her arms around herself even more, her gaze now focusing on the snow. Eric eyed her suspiciously.

"You are doing exceptionally well in rehearsals," he said simply. "There are still many songs for us to go over, but for the most part, you have perfected the role of Aminta better than I could have imagined," he said warmly, smiling down at her, still surprised that she did not share his joy. He cocked one eyebrow. "Tris-"

"Thank you, monsieur, I am pleased that I have won your favor." Eric frowned at her words.

"Y know you're doing exceptionally well, what's this talk about…winning my favor?" he turned to fully face her, frustrated that she wouldn't look at him. "Tris…tell me what's wrong." It was not a question; it was a command.

"Nothing is wrong monsieur, I-"

Eric groaned. "Again with calling me 'monsieur'!" he threw his hands up into the air, holding his temper in check before turning and facing her once again. "I've been noticing that this past week…you constantly refer to me as 'monsieur' instead saying my name."

Tris blushed. "I…I was simply being polite-"

"Polite?" he grabbed her by her shoulders and forced her to look at him. "You're acting childish is what you're doing, especially right now," he snapped. Tris looked up at him, knowing there was no turning back now. "Have I done something wrong?"

Her eyes went wide at his question. "No, of course not-"

"You're lying," he growled, his hands gripping her shoulders again to keep her looking at him. "Tell me the truth…what is wrong? His hand gently reached down and cupped her chin, lifting her face to gaze back at his. "What have I done to lose favor with you?"

She felt like an idiot. And that was exactly what he would think of her when she told him. She refused to cry in front of him, she would not show her tears, but even now she could feel a few betray her and fall down her cheeks.

"What am I to you Eric?" she asked, feeling bold with her question, as well as foolish.

"What?" he asked, releasing her shoulders, taken aback.

"What am I to you? It is a simple question, is it not?" she asked.

"Why are you asking this?" What was she getting at? Eric was still unsure what to say. Tris felt her jaw tremble somewhat.

"I just…I'm trying to understand who I am to you…so I know how to behave with you," she whispered, feeling her cheeks on fire with embarrassment. Eric stared at her, dumbfounded, before finally opening his mouth to speak, but she silenced him by raising her hand.

"Today is December 2nd, yes?" she asked. "That means I've been here for well over a month…practically two! And yet despite all that time you and I have spent together…" she bit her lip. "I know nothing about you."

Eric stared at her, his brow furrowed with confusion. He opened his mouth to protest, but she continued on. "I know about your history, yes, Marlene told me that, but…Eric, you're the person I spend the most time with here, and yet you are a stranger to me." She sighed and refocused her attention once again on the lagoon. "I know so much about the lives of the others…yes, even Peter!" she said, laughing somewhat at the amazement of it all. "Why…just yesterday, he was telling me that if he wasn't…wasn't cursed with how he looked," she was pained to say those words, "He would want to become a teacher at a university. Did you know what a genius he is with numbers?" she asked. "It's extraordinary, really! He longs to properly study mathematics, but knows he never will, which pains him more than those hideous tattoos and piercings those freaks put on him," she spat bitterly. She took a few calming breaths before continuing. "I know so much about the others…but you are the man I am with the most…" her eyes lifted up to meet his. "And you are a stranger to me… and yet you seem so familiar too-"

"What do you mean-" Eric frowned, refusing to believe what he hoped she was about to say.

"I don't know!" Tris sighed, running her fingers through her hair. "I get these dreams where I find myself inside a tent with so many people. Every time I try to make my way through- when I think I'm closer to something- I'm scared awake. I want to know what it is, but it scares and infuriates me, but what frustrates me most of all is that you keep strengthening them when I'm around you."

Eric's eyebrows raised, processing what she had just told him. He looked right at her, the shock evident on his face. Was she beginning to remember their past? He wasn't sure whether to be elated by the news or be filled with wary. How would she react if she learned that the pathetic disfigured boy that she had tried to help was now her captor? Eric knew how that scenario would turn out, and he refused to dwell on the grim results.

"You said it yourself: you know about the gypsies and how we got here. That explains the dreams," Eric said, hoping that ended her curiosity before finally settling matters straight. "You came to this theater with hopes of becoming a singer, Tris, and that is what I am doing! I am trying to help you become a great singer! But that means maintaining a professional teacher-student relationship as any professional singer would know-"

"Then why do you insist on such informalities as first names!" she spat back, feeling her heart break at his words and infuriated that he brusquely brushed the insecurities of her dreams aside. "If being a true professional is what you want, then by all means monsieur, that is how I shall behave…good day!"

Eric was stunned by what she had said and could not believe she was turning and walking away from him!

"Stop!" he shouted, and in two strides had his hand gripped around her wrist and was whirling her around to face him, his strong hands gripping her about the waist and holding her steady. "Are you saying…that you're upset with me for treating you with respect and courteousness-?"

Tris shook his hands off her. "No! I…I am saying that…" she took a deep breath knowing that this was her only chance. "I want to be more!"

Eric stared at her, his breath catching in his throat, his heart skipping a beat. More? What…what did she mean?

Tris saw the question in his eyes and knew she had to continue, despite the embarrassment that had permanently changed the color of her face. "I…I want to be more to you than just your student…" she took another breath and continued. "I want…I want to be your friend."

Eric's eyebrows lifted at her words.

"Friend?" he asked, the word sounding foreign from the way he said it, as if it were unknown in his vocabulary. Tris nodded her head, not able to look into his eyes.

"Yes," she whispered. "Please understand that I value everything you have done. The opportunity to learn how to sing professionally, the chance to see my dreams come true…I am so grateful for all that," she said with every bit of sincerity, her lashes lifting to meet his eyes which were locked on her face. "And I greatly value the times we spend together. Our lessons and rehearsals…" she wanted to tell him that she treasured those times with him, but she knew he would truly believe her a fool for saying something like that, so she remained silent.

"But I want to know you better. I want to hear your thoughts, share your ideas, and have discussions on many things, not just music…" her words had drifted into whispers at that point. What must he think of her? "I…I have invited you to come and see me whenever you wish, hoping that you will, but you never do…" she bit her lip. "I know this must sound foolish to you, but I'm very grateful for everything you've done, and I just…I want…" she sighed, knowing it was useless. "…to be your friend."

She stood before him, her shoulders slumped and her eyes cast downward in defeat. She awaited his laughter, or a sarcastic comment, anything to ridicule her for thinking and behaving like a child. He was right of course, a true singer, a great singer, would not seek friendship with her tutor…yet she could not imagine being anything less than a friend with him, and she longed to know the man behind the mask better. Yet it was all for loss.

Eric studied her for a long moment, her words sinking into his mind and emotions. A silence fell between them once again, neither of them speaking or moving, until finally, after what felt like an eternity, Eric said, "Come with me…there's something I want you to see."

Tris was startled by his words. His voice was gentle, soft, and coaxing…not at all what she had expected.

"What?" she asked, looking up at him, confused. He was already leading the way when he paused to face her again.

"Follow me," he said again, this time holding out his hand to her. Curious, and perplexed, Tris placed her small hand in his, and allowed him to lead her into the shadows of the unknown.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"You'll just have to be patient and see." Eric chuckled. He continued to lead her through the darkness, easily moving through the shadows as if it were as bright as day. Tris stumbled here and there, but maintained her balance and did not complain once.

"You have adjusted to my world quickly," he whispered to her. "And I understand you have learned how to get around rather well on your own."

"My eyesight is nothing like yours," she replied, gripping his hand tighter so as not to lose him in the darkness. She gasped as she almost lost her balance. Eric was there, his hands moving around her waist to steady her.

"Sorry," he murmured, his hands lingering before reluctantly releasing her. "I should have warned you about the path…it does get easier, I promise."

"You sure about that?" Tris half laugh and half whispered, wondering if he could see the flush of her cheeks despite the darkness. He smirked and took her hand again, his fingers tenderly wrapping around her smaller ones, cradling her hand inside his own.

"You have only been here for a few months, but I have had over years to learn these tunnels," he said, before coming to a stop.

"Wait here," he commanded, before releasing her hand and disappearing.

Tris missed his touch, realizing just how warm she had been when he had been holding her. She felt so cold now that his presence was gone, but before she could wrap her arms around her body, a light illuminated the shadows out of the corner of her eye. The light came from an oil lamp, that hung…she couldn't quite tell what exactly, but it looked as though…Eric, who was behind the light, was floating towards her! And then she realized…he was floating…but not on the air; on a boat. The lamp hung from the front of a gondola, and Eric was standing in the back, a large oar in his hands, pushing the boat towards her.

"Come," he whispered, holding his hand out to her. Without asking, Tris took his hand, and entered the boat, settling herself down as he then began to paddle them across the water.

"Where are we?" she asked, looking out into the murky waters, trying to see if the lamp could illuminate anything else.

"Your lagoon is not the only body of water under the Opera House," he said. "In fact, the Seine empties into an underground lake here, one that is quite vast, and rather deep," he looked down at her.

"Can you swim?" he asked. Tris shivered as she imagined the bottomless waters of the lake they were sailing.

"A little," she replied. "There was a pond behind our house. In the summer I would sometimes go swimming in it, but it wasn't very deep."

Eric nodded his head, moving the oar at an even pace, grateful for the shadows, for in truth, he knew she could swim, as the memories of that night when he had watched her bathe in the lagoon came flooding back to him, as they did every night.

"How far do the tunnels go?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts, which he was grateful for.

"I have explored many though I'm not sure if I've explored them all," he simply stated. "I do know that those," he indicated towards his left, "lead to the infamous catacombs of medieval Paris. Trust me, those are some tunnels you do not wish to explore."

Tris felt a shiver go down her body at the thought of coming across ancient skulls and skeletons of the men and women who lived so long ago. A part of her yearned to know how he knew about the catacombs, but another part of her felt just fine without fully knowing as well.

They reached the other end of the lake and Eric jumped out of the boat, the water going up to his knees, as he pulled the gondola ashore and tethered it to a simple wooden post that rose out of the earth. He then removed the lamp from where it hung and extended his hand to Tris. She wanted to know what he was going to show her, where exactly they were traveling, but she didn't ask, she simply took his hand and allowed him to lead her further into the darkness, past rocks and caverns, past pipes and tiny underground streams. She felt as if they were traveling to the center of the earth, but it came to her realization that instead of going down deeper, they were in fact climbing upward.

The hard earthen ground had changed to stone steps. And there were lamps along the walls that Eric was slowly lighting one by one. The steps were wide, and they twisted in a spiral format. Tris looked around her as Eric lit the lamps and noticed that there were stalls along the steps, some containing old blankets, others with moss and straw on the ground.

"They used to keep animals down here," Eric explained, not having to see the curiosity on Tris' face to know what she was thinking. "In the older days of the Paris Opera House, they sometimes had horses, cattle, and sheep on the stage for such operas. They aren't used anymore, but I remember when I first came here, all the noise they would make," he chuckled to himself. "The stagehands never learned who was milking the cows when they came down to do it themselves."

Tris smiled and could easily imagine the confusion, as well as Uriah's excitement at finding animals, if he knew about this place. After passing the animal stalls, Eric led her down a long passageway, passed large wooden wheels that were as big as a small building, with great ropes tethered around them.

"What is this place?" she gasped, looking at the wheels with amazement.

"The mechanisms that control the curtains," Eric simply answered. "They aren't simply controlled by those ropes and sandbags that the stagehands operate," he stopped her then. "Careful…there are some loose floorboards here."

Tris' eyes went wide and looked down at her feet, noticing that the boards where she stood did indeed look moldy and weak. She looked at Eric and how he was moving, that only on certain boards did he place his whole weight. She mimicked his steps, her confidence slowly growing, but let out a squeal when she felt one board give way beneath her feet. As before, Eric was there, his arm wrapping tightly around her waist and twirling her out of danger in front of him.

"Are you alright?" he asked, seeing how she was panting from her sudden fright.

"I'm fine," Tris wispered, trying to get her heart to beat at its normal rhythm, as she tried no to think about how his arm was still around her.

Eric released her, but took her hand again, leading her past the giant wheels, through some more darkened chambers, ever climbing upwards. They continued their journey, till they reached what appeared to be the inside of a tower. Eric led the way, up a long and narrow spiral staircase, which contained no sconces for Eric to light. In fact, the staircase was so narrow, that Eric couldn't take the oil lamp with him as well as keep a hold of Tris' hand, so they were climbing in pure darkness. Tris held Eric's hand like a vice, keeping the rest of her body flattened against the wall as they climbed higher and higher. She had no idea where he was taking her, and her curiosity was consuming her with every step, but she didn't want either of them to fall and break their necks!

"Stop here," he commanded. Tris did as he told her, wishing she could see what was going on. She could hear him grunting as he pushed against something, and she squinted her eyes as she saw…a sliver of light? There was the sound of iron being moved, and then, before she could blink, her face was bathed in a flourish of snowflakes that fell from the ceiling door Eric had just opened.

"Finally," he sighed, emerging into the snow covered air, his hand guiding Tris up through the door, helping her out, and it was then that she realized where they were.

"Oh my god!" Tris gasped, looking all around her. She was outside. The snow that was falling and swirling around her body and hitting her at every angle was not falling through holes in a cavern's ceiling, but from the actual sky above her head! They were standing on the roof of the Paris Opera House. Eric chuckled at her reaction and walked over to edge of the roof, leaning against the familiar stone gargoyles.

"I present to you Paris at dawn," he said quite simply, holding his hands out to the city that still very much seemed asleep.

With tentative steps, Tris followed Eric and gazed out at the city before her. Tiny lights dotted the streets, a few carriages were traveling here and there, but other than that, there wasn't a single living soul moving around. There were no fine ladies or gentlemen of fashion dressed in their silks and furs, parading their wares like peddlers at a market. There were no boys in front of the Opera House, advertising the next opera, and the beggars that were frequently seen to line the streets seemed to have disappeared from view as well. It was so quiet; in her brief time in Paris, Tris had never seen the city this quiet.

Eric studied her as she gazed out over the sleeping city, admiring the way the snow clung to her hair, the rosy color of her cheeks, and the brightness in her eyes as she gazed upon the outside world for the first time since she had brought him back on that stormy night.

"It's so beautiful," she murmured. Eric couldn't help but agree, but it was not the city that had his attention. He couldn't imagine a time he thought she looked more beautiful.

"The view is breathtaking, but the one from Notre Dame is better." Tris stared at him with disbelief.

"You have been to the top of Notre Dame?" she gasped.

He couldn't help but laugh. "Once, when I was much younger. I ventured out into the night without a care in the world, but even I, who have no fear of heights whatsoever, felt uneasy with being up there.

"You go out often?" she asked, simply amazed and curious about everything that he did. Eric looked away for a moment, as he all too well knew the reasons that drove him out into the night.

"On occasion," he whispered. "I actually have some who help me, by getting supplies for us, such as food, wine, fabric for clothes, blankets, oil for our lamps, etc." He grimaced somewhat. Tori was his link to the outside world, and since their fight, they had not been on speaking terms with one another, which was not making life easy for all of them. It was his own damn fault, he knew, and it was his responsibility to settle things; he couldn't afford to be selfish.

He cleared his throat, changing the subject.

"I wanted to bring you here for a reason," he murmured, fighting the urge to reach out and brush one of the strands of her hair from her cheek.

Tris couldn't help but smile somewhat. "You mean you didn't bring me up here to throw me off the roof?"

Eric realized her joke and found himself chuckling to it. "Tempting, I will admit, but…" his voice grew serious again. "I wanted to show you another part of my world that I know you have not seen. In fact, you are the only other person who has come up here, besides me."

"None of the others?" Tris' eyes widened. Eric shook his head.

"They don't care for heights, and they shun the light of day even more than me," he sighed, feeling pity for his friends. Despite the scars he wore, he had more freedom than they could ever have.

Tris blushed as realization came over her. While he had not yet said it to her directly, Eric was telling her by bringing her here, that he trusted her with the kind of trust one would give to a friend. He had taken her beyond the underground lair, into the Opera House itself, and above it. He was tempting her with a taste for freedom from his prison, but she did not feel the urge to run for her life, to escape him or the world he lived. She did however feel her heart ache for her father and Caleb. She gazed out over the cold streets of Paris and wondered where they were. Could she see the apartment they had occupied from here? She peered through the mist, wondering if they were there. Were they worried about her? Were they alright? Would she ever see them again?

Eric saw the pain in her eyes, knowing what she was thinking, but said nothing. Instead, he took off his cloak-like trenchcoat and gently placed it around Tris' shoulders, offering a small smile of reassurance.

"Thank you," she whispered, pulling the warm coat closer around her body, her eyes fluttering shut as she breathed in his scent. "And…thank you for showing me this."

"It's nothing," Eric whispered, turning his back to her and leaning against one of the gold stone gargoyles and angles. "I have thought about what you said earlier…" he looked over his shoulder at her. "What is it that you wish to know about me?"

Tris was taken aback by his abruptness, and at first thought perhaps he was mocking her. But she realized that he was being very sincere, and that this was a somewhat awkward moment for them both. He had not dismissed her request for wanting to be friends.

"Well, I am curious…about _Don Juan_ ," she began. "How did the idea for the opera come to you?"

Eric couldn't help but give a cynical laugh.

"You want to know about the story?" he clarified for her. "Well, when I first came to this theater, I knew very little about music and nothing at all about opera, but it just so happened that on the first night we had arrived they were playing _Faust_. I snuck up to the catwalks high above the stage and watched the entire show from there. I was mesmerized by the spectacle…" he whispered, his eyes clouding over with memories. "And instantly, I felt a connection to music. So, as you can see, I have dedicated some of my work to my first exposure to opera."

Tris did understand that, after all, _Don Juan_ , like _Faust_ , sold his soul to the devil, however in Eric's opera, it was to seek out revenge over the beautiful Aminta and her handsome lover.

"And the rest of the story?" she inquired, hoping she was not overstepping her boundaries. Eric breathed in deeply.

"I was seventeen when I came here. Young and foolish. I knew nothing of the world or how it worked," he paused before continuing. "And nothing at all about women."

Tris had not expected this. Her entire attention was upon him like a rabbit being stalked by a wolf.

"Her name was Nita," Eric continued, his teeth grinding somewhat as he said her name. "She was a dancer…a star, really. Graceful, beautiful, young…and stupid," he spat. "I was an idiot too, charmed by her beauty, dazzled by her talent, I composed songs, sonnets, all manners of love-sick poetry to her, signing them as if I were a mysterious ghost, and thus giving birth to my infamous pseudonym," he chuckled, although there was little humor in his voice. "For two agonizing years I kept to the shadows, not once revealing who I was, thinking that she would seek me out, and when she did, she would be so in love with me that she would not care about my face, and that she would see past it…" his voice was full and bitter. "But her true face was soon revealed to me," he growled.

He suddenly turned to face Tris, and she took a quick step back as she saw old anger flare in his eyes.

"Do you find the Vicomte de Sevoy handsome?" he asked, bitterness and hatred pouring out of his voice.

Tris did not know what to say. Yes, strictly going by appearance, Tobias was quite handsome. But she had a glimpse at the man beneath the invisible mask, and from what she could tell, he was pompous, arrogant, narcissistic, and disrespectful. Eric grew impatient.

"Naturally you think so, all women do," he grumbled, turning his attention back to the city.

Tris opened her mouth to protest, not liking to be judged based on some silly thoughts by members of her sex, but Eric continued. "He was only sixteen at the time…but he was just as much a hunter then as he is now."

Tris wrapped the coat around her even tighter, feeling the cold invade her bones.

"I remember the day he came to the Opera House. He was not the Vicomte then, but he did not need his title to win him conquests. He too found Nita to be irresistible, and all it took for him was a sweet word or two, a kiss on the hand, and she was on her back, her legs spread willingly from east to west, in a matter of seconds."

Tris flushed deeply at Eric's course words, but said nothing. Pain dripped from his lips as the melted snow dripped from her hair. He sighed deeply, painfully.

"What I had been doing for two years, the Vicomte had accomplished in a matter of minutes," the anger flared once again in his voice. "She assumed he had been the author of her romantic tokens, and he was all too willing to take the credit. I realized then the creature she truly was…vain, spoiled, conceited," he slammed his fist against the gargoyle. "And so fucking stupid…"

Tris chewed on her bottom lip, clutching Eric's trench coat close to her body, yet also wanting to comfort him for his wounds. But she dared not move.

"What happened to her?" she whispered.

"The stupid girl thought the Vicomte loved her and wanted to marry her, so she ran away to be with him. A year later, Tobias returned, but Nita was not with him. In fact, no one ever saw Nita again, stupid girl," he muttered, flinging some snow over the edge of the roof.

Tris felt Eric's pain as she took in the sad story he had told. Was the character of Aminta based on this woman? Tris was not comfortable with the thought of herself playing a past love interest of his.

"Satisfied?" Eric snapped. Tris flinched at the coldness in his voice, but refused to let it get to her.

"I'm sorry Eric," she whispered.

Eric scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Please, the last thing I need from you are apologies for her."

"I'm not apologizing for her!" Tris protested. "But I am sorry for the pain that you went through! I can tell from the way you mentioned her that at one point you loved her dearly-"

"I did not love her," Eric growled. "I was dazzled by her beauty and flattered by the way she read the poems I wrote for her…but I never loved her."

Tris' brow furrowed. "But you said-"

He turned on her then, advancing towards her.

"Have you ever been in love, Tris?" he asked.

"What?" Tris took several steps back, suddenly feeling like the roof had shrunk.

"Have you ever been in love? Do you know what it feels like to love another and have that love returned?" he was practically yelling at this point.

What could she say? No, she had never known of that kind of love to be returned, but, she was so unsure of the feelings that were beating inside her heart. He confused her. He haunted her thoughts while awake and her dreams while asleep. His music constantly played over and over in her head, and when he stood before her, even now, looking all dark and menacing she could not help but feel new unknown passions awaken in her blood. And despite his intimidating presence, Tris knew she had nothing to fear of him. There was a trust she felt for this man, who several times that day had already caught her before falling. With these thoughts, she found herself standing her ground and squaring her shoulders to him.

"The love that you speak, I…I have not known, but-"

Eric wasn't interested in hearing her reason, he was sick of reason. He just wanted to make his point and be done with it. "Then how can you possibly know or comprehend what I feel or have felt? Of all the people in this world, don't you think that I would know my feelings better than anyone else?"

He turned from her then and stalked back over to the gargoyle. Tris glared at his back, not ready to end this now.

"I didn't force you to tell me this story!" she shouted. "But you did answer my question…now I know your basis for Aminta."

Eric kept his back to her. "Aminta is not Nita. She is just a copy of what women really are."

Tris felt her face pale at his words. She stalked to where he stood and grabbed him by the shoulder, not caring that it took her whole strength to turn him around and face her.

"And what am I, Eric?" she shouted. "After all, I am a woman. The best that you tell me what I really am!"

Her spirit was alive and kindling with wildfire. Eric had never seen it in such a blaze, and for the first time in his life he felt himself shrinking before another.

"Calm down," he ordered in a hushed voice. "Do you want all of Paris to awake and know of our whereabouts?"

"To hell with them!" Tris spat, surprised by her own crude words. "Tell me what you meant Eric! After all, I think I'm entitled as the woman who is playing this Jezebel for your opera!" she shoved her fists against him. "You are saying that we are all deceitful creatures! That we use good men and their romantic tokens as means to make ourselves feel powerful, and then destroy them by throwing ourselves at the first handsome face with wealth and power that comes our way! My God, is that what you truly think?"

"Am I wrong?" Eric was growing annoyed by her words. Tris screamed in aggravation, taking off Eric's coat and throwing it at him.

"Yes!" she shouted, stomping her foot good and hard, breaking the snow all around it. "And how dare you belittle me for feeling sorry for you! I do not pity you Eric! But I am sorry for the pain that she caused you, and I despise her for tainting your view on all women! But let me assure you that not all women are so fickle, conceited, and self-absorbed!"

"Really?" Eric cocked his head to one side, admiring the fire that was fueling through her.

"Yes goddamn it!" she shouted again, throwing her arms up into the air. "I don't know the kind of love that you asked me earlier, but I know myself and what I have been taught. I have seen it with my very own eyes! My father was the son of one of the richest families in Chicago, but he abandoned that life to be with my mother, a poor singer before she became who everyone knows her today. He loved her for the woman she was, not for money or power or fame. And it nearly broke him beyond repair when she died. She was all that mattered; their love for each other all\that mattered! And I will not be judged upon the horrid deeds of Nita and other women like her!"

Eric bit his lips to not grin at her.

"When I love a man… I will love him with my whole heart, with all of my being, my soul, and my mind. I will not cast him aside the second another enters my life, no matter how wealthy, handsome, or powerful he may be! I will not lie to him, I will not deceive him, but I will fight for him and stand loyally with him," tears were beginning to stream down her cheeks as she continued speaking. Eric's amused grin disappeared and he slowly began walking towards her.

"When he is ill I will nurse him, and when he is sad, I will comfort him," she choked. "I will be everything to him. His friend, his companion, his lover, and if he will have me…his wife," she whispered. She couldn't look at him now, especially since he was standing right in front of her, his body so close to hers.

Had he realized that she was talking about…about him?

Had she realized it? Perhaps she always knew…

Eric's heart felt strangely warmed by this woman. The feelings that had been raging through him ever since Tris came back into his life were reaching a boiling point. His memories of Nita had threatened that stone exterior he kept around himself, and his fears for rejection, ridicule, and desertion came crashing back.

But Tris' words filled him with new hope. Was it possible to believe that this beauty could love the beast that he was? She had asked him earlier if it was possible for them to be friends. Yes, yes, he wanted to be friends with her very much.

But it almost seemed too much to dream for anything more, despite the new hope Tris gave him.

Tris wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand, shivering uncontrollably as the cold seeped through her dressing gown.

"Can we go back inside?" she asked. "It's very cold."

Eric nodded his head and led her back towards the door they had come through.

"I do not think the sun will be rising today," he murmured, surveying the cold gray sky overhead.

Tris sighed. "I have almost forgotten what the sun looks like."

The trap door was open once again, and Tris bit her lip, wondering how in the world she was going to climb down those steep steps.

"Allow me," Eric murmured, going in front of her, and tethering a rope that was connected to the trap door. The rope was long and disappeared into the dark abyss. He wrapped his leg around the rope, creating a holster and securing himself within it.

"Hold tight to me," he urged Tris, his arm already moving around her waist.

Tris was not sure about this; in fact, she had just realized how much she was scared of heights. "Eric-"

"Trust me."

She looked at him, his words melting over her like honey, and his arm felt strong and secure around her body. She nodded her head, her arms going around his shoulders and gripping him tightly, her head burrowing against his chest, biting back the scream as with one arm, he held onto the rope, and they gently, yet swiftly, floated to the ground. It was over before she knew it. Tris was still holding tightly to him even after her feet were securely on the ground.

"It's alright," he whispered, running a soothing hand through her hair. Tris lifted her head, looking around and realizing that they truly were back on the ground, and then her fists began pounding against his chest.

"Warn me next time about that being the only way of coming back down when you take me up anywhere!" she hissed, but she wasn't truly upset, just shaken from everything that had taken place. It was more than simply arguing with him on the roof of Paris. It was coming to terms with what she had admitted to herself when she was declaring to him the kind of woman she would be.

She was in love with the Phantom of the Opera.

Eric's hands lingered on her waist, his face so close to her own. So much had happened. This woman had the voice of an angel, she inspired his music like nothing else, she ignited his soul, and for the first time in over twenty years. She brought hope back to his heart. He was a monster, and yet she made him feel like a man.

"We better return, don't you think?" Tris whispered. "Before any stagehands find us here?"

"You're right," he sighed, a sad smile crossing his lips. "Although all the stagehands know that this is part of my domain and that I choose to share it with them. If they saw me- and some of them have- they know best not to tell anyone, except to keep the legend of the Opera Ghost alive."

"Yes, but what would they say if they saw me with you?" she asked.

Eric grinned as he led her back to their lair. "That the Opera Ghost has a friend?"

Tris stared up at him, a smile spreading across her lips. It was a start. Perhaps with time, she could teach the Opera Ghost to love again.


	20. XIX: Kindling

**Hello again after a month long absence! I am so sorry that I have taken this long for an update, but thank you for being patient and I hope you all enjoy the new chapter! Like I am so truly sorry that all of you had to wait so long for this chapter. There have been a many clusterfuck reasons from writer's block, laptop crashing and nearly losing the files for this chapter and notes ans research for the story, and finding any source to write this on from a friend's computer or phone. Hopefully this shan't happen again!**

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 _"They played at hearts as other children might play at ball; only, as it was really their two hearts that they flung to and fro, they had to be very, very handy to catch them, each time, without hurting them."_

 ** _Gaston Leroux_**

Two more weeks passed since Eric had taken Tris to the roof the Opera House. But in that period, so much had changed between the two of them, that if one had met them, they would never have suspected that once upon a time, Eric was holding Tris against her will.

Indeed, even the others found the change to be startling. Eric still kept to himself for a large part; he would always be somewhat of an introvert. But his laughter would ring throughout the tunnels, a sound that was not often heard. In the past, Uriah was always cautious about approaching Eric; now, his fear for his master had practically disappeared. Marlene, who often brought Eric his meals to his chamber, was still getting over the compliments he would frequently give for her cooking, not to mention how he was just so much more…cheerful.

"Something has to be done about the Master," Peter commented one evening during supper.

Will gave the other man a sour look. "What needs to be done? The Master is in good spirits!"

"Exactly!" Peter grumbled. "And…well…it's just not right!"

Marlene, who was serving everyone, made a loud dismissive sound. "The Master has never been in better health, and merry spirits are good for him. One cannot expect a man in his prime to spend his life brooding away in darkness."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Unless you looked in a mirror as of late, that's all we're good for! And while the Master isn't as cursed as we are…he's not a…a 'normal' man…to pretend that he is would be horrible!"

Will shook his head. "How so? How would it be horrible for the Master to be happy now and again? It's a blessing, I say. And what is 'normal' anyway? Down here, to be a 'freak of nature' is normal," he chuckled.

All the others chuckled with him, except for Peter who was just looking as sour as ever before. "You think it's funny that the Master is abandoning his duties?"

Will's smile quickly disappeared. "What on earth are you groaning about?"

"It's her fault!" Peter hissed.

"Hush!" Marlene snapped, not wanting anything rude said about Tris.

"It is! Before she came here, the Master struck fear into the hearts of those who reside above! The legend of the Opera Ghost thrived, and no person dared cross the Phantom's rules or instructions for fear of death! But now…" he sighed. "Now, what threats has he made? What fear do people have? None! Because of his so-called 'good spirits', the Phantom of the Opera is becoming more of a childish story to give people nightmares rather than an entity that controlled this place!"

"You truly are the most selfish person I've met, Peter." Will groaned. "Why don't you just say that you're afraid for yourself, that someone will come down here and take you away-"

"Don't belittle me!" Peter retorted. "You had best be worried about your own skin too! Without any threats from the Phantom, sooner or later people will not fear coming down here, and will find us!"

"Impossible!" Will snarked back. "You know as well as I that any person who doesn't know these passages will either find themselves trapped, lost…or worse. The Master designed them specially; we have nothing to worry about."

Peter found himself chuckling, although it was a cold cynical chuckle. "Yes, of course, you're quite right…but wait! If I am not correct, isn't there a young lady amongst us who somehow…got past all those traps without a scratch on her?"

Will refused to meet Peter's eyes, knowing full well that the other man was right.

"The odds of another having the same luck as Tris would be extremely slim," he argued. Peter took a bite from the food on his plate.

"But not impossible." He ignored the glares he was receiving from the others around the table and continued eating, knowing very well that he was upsetting Will who always made it a habit to say "grace" at supper.

"You should be nicer to Tris, Peter," Uriah softly stuttered, poking at the food on his plate with his fork. Peter was surprised by the protest, not used to hearing Uriah stick up for himself…or anyone in that matter.

"Oh really?" he drawled. "Are you threatening me?"

"That's enough!" Lynn ordered, putting a hand on Uriah's great arm to calm him.

"No, this is actually getting rather interesting!" Peter chuckled, watching Uriah beginning to tremble in anger. "I'm curious to see what the big guy will do to defend his 'lady fair'."

"She's good and she's my friend! Don't talk badly about her!" He pounded a large fist on the table, causing the plates to shake. "And don't belittle me either, Peter!"

Peter leaned back in his chair, his hook tapping lightly on the table, smirking.

"I must say…I'm impressed Uriah," he sighed, bowing his head. "In all the time I've known you you've never stuck up for anyone, even yourself…and yet here you are…defending your gypsy girl and telling me to, more or less, keep my mouth shut."

Uriah was still trembling, but he was unsure what to say or how to react to Peter's words. Then, when Peter began to chuckle, Uriah found himself grinning and laughing back.

"At least she's good for something," Peter muttered, grabbing hold of a wine bottle and pouring a hefty amount into his cup. Uriah's smile faded into a dark frown.

"She's good for many things and if you disagree then you'll have to go through me!" he threatened, his fist slamming down once more onto the table.

"Please!" Marlene cried, worried for the food that was still on the table. "This behavior is highly inappropriate for the dinner table! I am deeply ashamed of you both!"

Peter rolled his eyes. "You should be proud! Today Uriah has become a man and has finally stood up to me," he laughed, raising his glass and clinking it with Uriah's.

"Pity that the measure of a man must be weighed against you," Lynn grumbled. "For I know many vermin who would then constitute as men."

"That's enough!" Marlene bellowed, raising her fork in the direction of Peter. "Let this be the last word on the subject. the Master has always taken care of us and will continue to do so! But the man is allowed some happiness for all the burdens he bears, including us," she emphasized, looking directly at Peter.

"We serve him, yes, but if not for him, we'd have no food on our table, no clothes to wear, no books to read," She cast a look at Uriah, "and for all I know, we'd still be prisoners to that bloody carnival! So I suggest, gentlemen and lady," she growled, looking at each and every one of them, "that you show some gratitude by eating the food on your plates and giving the Master some peace!" She sat back down, shaken from her anger, and stuffed her mouth full of potatoes.

The others said nothing, just stared at their plates in silence.

"Well that was passionate, I must say."

All five heads turned to one of the shadowed corners from which Eric emerged, his hands coming together in applause. Everyone's eyes were wide; their mouths open, wondering how long he had been standing there. Peter turned very pale.

"Master," Marlene said, quickly rising from her chair.

"Sit and eat, you've said quite enough for tonight," Eric reassured, a gentle hand reaching out and patting her shoulder. His eyes were locked on Peter, who was trembling in his chair.

"Master…I…I just want to say-"

"You needn't say anything," Eric sighed, admiring the food on the table. "Roast potatoes, baked bread, and for a main course…surely that's not goose, is it?"

"Duck!" Uriah said happily. "Roast duck which I helped with p-preparing!"

Eric smiled at Uriah and patted his shoulder.

"Indeed…you have proven yourself a man in many ways, Uriah," Eric said proudly. Uriah couldn't help but beam. Peter however was sinking in his chair.

"Can I fetch you plate, Master?" Marlene offered, again rising from her chair.

"Stay and eat your food Marlene, you work far too hard to be serving anyone any further," Eric commanded gently, but with great authority. Marlene sat right back down and gazed up at Eric as he continued to circle the table. "I merely came to say that there is no need to bring any dinner to my chamber…"

"Oh?" Marlene asked, still unsure of how to react. Eric seemed to possess a dangerous calm about himself. "Do you know when we shall expect Tris?"

Eric smiled. "Mademoiselle Prior shall be joining me this evening…I actually came to see if there is a basket that I may place some food in."

"I shall fetch it for you Master," Will said quickly, rising from his chair and shuffling his ironclad body out of the chamber.

Eric smiled after Will and then came to Peter's chair, smiling down at the man with the hook for a hand. Peter avoided Eric's eyes at all times, focusing his whole attention to the cup of wine he held in his only hand.

"I must say Peter…I had no idea how worried you were about everyone's safety here," Eric sighed, coming around Peter's chair and seating himself in the spot where Will had been. Peter said nothing, but simply continued to drink his wine.

"I also was rather surprised by your words. I had rather thought that you and Mademoiselle Prior were getting on much better." Eric stretched himself out in the chair, his hands lounging on the arms, his legs crossing over one another, his head leaning back as he gazed at Peter. "Perhaps there is something you wish to explain?"

"No Master," Peter whispered, taking another swig from his cup.

"No? No there is nothing you wish to explain? Or no, things are not going well between you and Mademoiselle Prior?"

Peter swallowed the lump in his throat. "I…I j-just meant-"

"Please speak up Peter, I have been playing the organ for a good portion of the day and confess that my hearing is not as keen as it normally would be."

Peter swallowed again. "I only meant that…i-if Tris-"

"Mademoiselle Prior," Eric corrected. "Until you are on better terms, I think you should remain formal, don't you?"

"Yes Master," Peter muttered He felt sweat dripping from his brow into his eyes. "I…I'm only concerned that if Mademoiselle Daae could get down here then others may as well."

Eric nodded his head and leaned forward, his arms coming to rest on the table. "Yes, I can understand your concern, but thankfully, I know I can depend upon you to be on guard in case that did happen, yes?"

Peter nodded his head, his eyes remaining downcast to the table. Eric smiled.

"Good," he said, giving Peter's shoulder a hearty shake. "And as for your 'concern' that I am not doing my duties as the infamous 'Phantom of the Opera'…" he rose from his chair and leaned close to Peter, his face near the man's ear, his voice so soft, but so dangerous. "Answer me truthfully, Peter…do you find me fearsome now?"

Peter bit his lip, his whole body trembling.

"Well?"

"Yes master," he stammered.

"Good, I'm glad," Eric whispered. "Never forget…" he emphasized, his teeth clipped and his voice a hiss in the other man's ear. "I know my place and my duties…so it's wise that you remember yours."

Peter nodded his head fervently, still looking away, his teeth biting his lip to keep from crying out.

Satisfied that his point was clearly made, Eric moved away from the trembling man, his hand coming down on Peter's shoulder, this time giving it a pat of reassurance.

"I promise you, you'll never see that place again," he whispered, compassion coming over him for the man who feared the carnival more than anyone else. Eric turned to see Will, standing in the entryway of the cavern, holding the basket of food.

"Thank you Will," Eric said rather jovially, taking the basket from him. "Enjoy your dinner."

They watched him disappear into the shadows, just as suddenly as he had arrived. Will went back to his seat, his eyes looking desperately at Marlene and Lynn, hoping for an explanation, but they gave none, and they simply continued to eat their food in silence. It was Uriah who broke the silence, sitting tall and proud in his seat.

"The Master agrees that today, I've become a man!" he poured himself a small cup of wine and lifted it high into the air.

"To Tris!" he said happily. "I'm very happy she came!"

* * *

Tris was grinning from ear to ear as she listened to the beautiful music being played beneath her. Every December right before Christmas, the Opera House gave a free public concert of Handel's _Messiah_. It was simple, yet elegant. The stage decorated with red and white roses, the four principle soloists sitting on four elegant red velvet chairs while the chorus stood behind them. The orchestra was playing with great gusto, and Tris couldn't help but hum softly to some of the familiar tunes that her brother had played on the piano every Christmas. And, much to her relief, this was one performance Jeanine officially did not participate in. According to Eric, Jeanine would not participate in something as meager as a public choral concert.

Tris still couldn't believe it. She grinned at Eric and then smiled down at the musicians on the tiny stage beneath her. Both she and Eric were sitting on a cat walk high above the auditorium, close the Opera House's grand chandelier that hung over the audience. No one would see them, and no stage hands would come up to where they were during the performance. It was as if she were at a private concert.

Earlier that evening, after a long rehearsal, Eric congratulated her on her progress, and felt that it was time for a treat. Tris had no idea what he meant, as he had never given her a "treat" before after a rehearsal, but she couldn't help but grin when he told her to wear one of her more "elegant" gowns for that evening, and to come with an empty stomach. Tris did exactly as she was told, and at exactly seven o'clock, he arrived at her chamber, dressed in one his finest black suits, wearing a crisp clean white linen shirt, cravat, and tie. He held out a rose for her, which took Tris by surprise, for she was still unsure about how he felt towards her, but her heart skipped a beat as he offered her the flower and bent to kiss her hand, hoping beyond anything that perhaps, he too, was feeling something more.

Eric still had no idea what possessed him to make such an offer. Since their conversation on the roof, he was going out of his way to be more open with her, to share his thoughts, not only on music, but on books, art, and philosophy as well. Always the professional musician, Eric would quickly bring them back to the task at hand if their conversation began to wander during rehearsals. But she was lingering more after rehearsals to speak with him, and he now and then found himself going to her chamber, to either learn her thoughts on something, or to simply bid her goodnight. It was strange, this friendship he had with her, but he had hoped that it would help fight the strange emotions that were raging through him. Sadly, he was finding that instead, it was kindling them.

Yet he ignored his discomfort about such things and tried to focus on his music when they were apart. He was working hard with the stage and art directions for _Don Juan_ , as well as sending up instructions daily to the managers to begin ordering supplies for the opera. He was quite determined to see it performed before the season ended. Yet with so much work at hand, Eric knew that both he and Tris needed a break of some sort, and knowing that it was the evening for _Messiah_ , he could not imagine a better treat for his rising star than a night at the opera.

He felt like a fool, a man well past the age to behave like a love-sick school boy, but he couldn't stop grinning at the thought of her surprise when she learned what he had in store. He went to kitchens of his lair, momentarily taking care of some unpleasant business with Peter before fetching the food, and then arriving to take Tris to her surprise.

She was a vision like nothing else he had seen. Indeed, he felt his heart stop at the sight of her.

He had instructed her to wear the most elegant gown she had, not remembering what he had brought her so many weeks ago, but he was not prepared for what he saw. She was a vision in ivory; the gown sparkled, hugging her curves deliciously and then fanning out into a full skirt that made her look like a princess from a fairy tale. He would not have been surprised if it were glass slippers she wore under the skirt. She wore white satin gloves that went up to her elbows. Of all her gowns, this one was also the most revealing; the thin lace that served as sleeves revealed her shoulders, and the neckline was dangerously low. When she greeted him, she smiled a dazzling innocent sweet smile, and then did a little twirl, asking him if she had followed his instructions properly. Eric could only nod his head, his voice momentarily gone. This was an image that would forever be burned into his mind.

They then proceeded to the catwalk, going by the underground lake, past the old animal stalls, and up some old steps that he knew were abandoned, and safe for her to climb. When Eric opened the trap door to the catwalk, Tris gasped, the grand chandelier being the first thing to greet her eyes. He took her hand in his and led her to a place on the catwalk where he knew they would be secluded in shadows, but where she would have the best view of the stage. He proceeded to lower his cape for them to sit on, and then revealed the food that had been prepared for their supper. He also revealed a bottle of wine and two glasses that were in the basket as well. Tris couldn't help but giggle as Eric insisted on a toast to the evening.

"What shall we drink to?" he asked, raising his glass. Tris smiled, feeling her cheeks become aflame.

"To the Angel of Music," she whispered. Eric's brow furrowed at her words.

"The what?" he asked, hoping he did not sound as if he were ridiculing her, just simply curious to what she meant. Tris smiled and clinked her glass with his.

"The Angel of Music," she said again, as if anyone would understand what she was talking about. "The Angel of Music was what brought me here…to this city, to this place…and to this moment."

Eric cocked an eyebrow at her words, curious to know more about this mysterious angel she spoke of, but clinked his glass with hers and raised it to his lips.

"To your angel," he whispered, before drinking.

Tris took her drink, wondering if Eric knew that her angel was indeed…him.

They ate the roast duck, potatoes, and bread that Marlene had previously prepared, talking quietly with one another, Tris trying to guess what would be performed that evening. Eric couldn't help but find her charming, how she seemed like a little girl, fidgeting with excitement every time she heard the orchestra tune their instruments, trying to figure out what music it was they were going to perform. And then, the curtains opened and the orchestra began to play, and Tris immediately recognized the opening song.

"Handel's _Messiah_! she exlaimed happily, and without thinking, she leaned against the catwalk, her arms clinging to the ropes that separated her from falling to her death, and her feet, coming out from under her skirt and dangling over the edge. It was positively unladylike, but neither Tris nor Eric cared. He had never seen her so happy, and he knew that this was the image that would truly stay with him for the rest of his life.

She kept grinning at the stage, and then at him while the musicians below filled the auditorium with their songs, her feet swinging back and forth like a child. Eric however kept his gaze focused on Tris. He was glad that for at least one night, he could give her something to be happy about, something that may take away the pain of being his prisoner and losing her father and brother, if only briefly. He found himself frowning as he remembered Peter's words, his fear that Eric had more or less gone soft. If he had forgotten his duties to strike fear into the hearts of others as the infamous Phantom. Truth was, and oh how he hated to admit it, Eric had forgotten. He was finding bliss with Tris, bliss in her voice, and bliss in her presence. He had never truly known happiness till she had come into his life…and it frightened him.

Was his guard down? Would others attempt to explore the places they knew were forbidden? He had made a vow to protect his friends, promising that they would never again know what it was like to be behind bars and subjected to humiliation. Peter needed to be taught a lesson, Eric could see that, but he pitied the man all the same, knowing that it was his fear that drove him to such mad fits. He glanced at Tris again, thinking perhaps he did need to keep his distance, at least more so than he was now. He needed to stay focused and alert, but he could not imagine a life without her voice singing sweetly to heaven, or her laughter filling his ears. Even now, as she softly hummed to the songs below, he could feel himself being lost in the bliss that she offered. For the first time in his life, light was coming into the shadowy depths of his soul.

He then remembered Marlene's words, about how he "deserved" some happiness. He looked at Tris again, thinking exactly that as he watched her face glow with excitment.

"Eric, thank you so much for this!" Tris whispered, leaning a little closer as the famous "Hallelujah Chorus" began to play. "Oh I love this song, I-" she gasped as she had leaned far too close on the catwalk, but Eric was there, his strong arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her safely back onto the catwalk.

"Careful!" he hissed, his arm slipping under her skirts and pulling her fully back. Tris blushed as she felt his arm briefly brush her legs, but she was more ashamed of her childish behavior than anything.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I was being foolish, I-"

"You were merely excited, it's alright," Eric whispered. "Just be more careful…and enjoy the song."

Tris smiled at him and turned her attention back to the stage as the chorus continued to sing. The incident had startled them both so much that neither of them had realized that one of Tris' shoes had fallen from her feet, landing softly in Box 5 beneath them. But this was no ordinary box…it was the one that the Vicomte de Sevoy occupied.

Tobias didn't normally come to these public concerts. He saw no point as no money was made in them. But tonight, he came with hopes that perhaps the elusive Mademoiselle Prior would arrive. It angered him that the private investigator he was paying quite handsomely had not found anything, but Tobias was determined to uncover the whereabouts of the missing costume girl before her wealthy and isolated grandfather died.

"What the hell?" he hissed, when the falling shoe landed at his feet. He looked up at the ceiling of the box, seeing nothing, and then leaned out over the edge, trying to see where the shoe may have come from, but saw nothing.

"Is something wrong monsieur?" an usher appeared, having heard the Vicomte swearing.

"It's nothing," Tobias muttered, his hand waving at the usher in a dismissive manner. He picked the shoe up and examined it, noting how fine it was. Where could such a thing come from? It was the kind of slipper a woman of great fashion would wear, but there were no boxes above him, and it had come from above…so where had it come from? He glanced back out over the edge of his box to the ceiling above. All he could see was the chandelier and what looked to be a catwalk, although it was hard to tell with shadows covering it.

 _Impossible_ , he thought. No woman would be up there. It must have been some drunken stage hand playing a trick. Well, he'd have that settled tomorrow. Tobias rose from the box, clearly bored from the evening's festivities.

"Get me my carriage," he ordered the usher. He glanced one last time at the shoe, and decided to take it with him, as evidence to be used against whomever the idiot was that chose to play the prank.

A few more songs later, the performance had ended. Tris, like the rest of the audience, rose to her feet and clapped heartily to the performers on stage. She leaned forward too closely and gasped, gripping the rope of the catwalk as she tried to find her balance.

"Is everything alright?" Eric asked, vaulting to his feet when he noticed her stumble.

"Oh…just…" she felt around with her foot, but couldn't find her missing shoe. "Excuse me," she muttered, lifting her skirts, trying to see where it had gone, but…it was nowhere to be seen.

"That's weird…" she murmured.

"What?" Eric asked, concern etched across his masked face.

Tris bit her lip, wondering if he would be terribly upset with her. "I can't find my slipper…the one to my left foot…it seems…oh no."

Eric knew the answer before she said another word. "I think we can be assured that since there was no gasping or screaming in the middle of the performance, your shoe did not hit anyone."

"Yes, but shouldn't we be worried? I mean don't you think someone will wonder who was up here?" Tris bit her lip, fearing that perhaps she had given away the Phantom's secret, but Eric couldn't help but grin at her worry.

"Don't worry," he assured her. "There's nothing to fear or fret about…" his eyes briefly caught that of a petrified stage hand who was walking along another nearby catwalk and who also turned and fled at the sight of the Phantom. "But we should be on our way."

Tris nodded her head, feeling tired from the night's events, still in awe of everything that they had shared. She felt so honored by what Eric had done, to think of her and bring her here to this performance, and she was so grateful for the growing friendship between the two of them, but her heart ached with love for him that she feared would never be returned.

She followed him safely down from the catwalk, and down the steps they had climbed to reach it, but she cursed her stupidity for losing her shoe, as the ground hurt her stocking-covered feet, (she had removed the other shoe and was now holding it). Sensing what she was thinking, Eric spun around and without a word, scooped her up into his arms as if she weighed next to nothing.

"Eric!" she gasped, finding her arms around his neck and shoulders. "This isn't necessary! hank you, but-"

"You talk too much Stiff, you know that? I will not have you hobble all the way back," he argued. "And you're tired. You need to rest Tris…"

His voice was soft, warm, and deep; very hypnotic. Tris' mouth closed and felt her eyes grow heavy, relishing the feel of his strong arms holding her, his black longcoat swirling around her, carrying her like one of the dark heroes from her books. Her head fell to his shoulder, and her eyes fluttered shut as he continued to carry her without struggle or complaint.

Eric was still surprised from what he had done, but it was as if an unknown instinct had taken over, and without a thought or care, he scooped her up and began to carry her as if he had always done so. And she felt so right; she was small, but not thin; just the perfect shape really, and she fit so perfectly in his arms. He had not realized that he had been holding his breath when he felt her head fall to his shoulder. How could this be? How could this angel be here, with him, allowing him to hold her? To touch her? He was a monster! She had seen, several times, what he looked like beneath his mask! And yet she had fallen asleep in his demon arms.

Oh God above…he was done for.

He placed her very carefully in the gondola, and then sailed them back to the shore of his lair. He picked her up without struggle once again, and carried her to her chamber, where he laid her softly, gently, upon her bed, her hair spilling around her pillow like a blonde silken wave. He took a blanket and carefully laid it over her gown, checked that her fire was blazing warmly, and then pulled the lace curtains around the bed to offer her more privacy.

"Eric?"

He was startled by the soft voice, thinking she was asleep.

"I'm here," he whispered, bending to one knee so his face was at the same level as hers. Her eyes momentarily fluttered open so she could see him, and she smiled.

"Thank you for tonight," she whispered.

He smiled back and without thinking, found himself leaning forward and placing a kiss to her forehead.

"It was my pleasure," he whispered back, before quickly rising and hurrying out of there.

What had possessed him to kiss her? He was amazed that she hadn't screamed at the feel of his odd-shaped lips touching her flawless skin. But her words rang through his head; she had thanked him for what he had done, for his surprise, for his gift to her. In a world where he saw countless women fawn over jewels and diamonds, his Tris had thanked him for taking her to a secret place, eating a simple meal, and watching a choral concert. Perhaps she was right. Tris was not like these women he had based Aminta on. If she were moved by something as simple as music perhaps it was possible to dream, to believe that…that she could love–

"Bullshit," he scoffed at himself, before entering his chamber and grabbing hold of a bottle of wine. He always knew he was on the brink of madness, but now he feared he was quickly toppling over the edge.

"I will control this," he ordered to himself before taking a deep drink. "I will conquer this!"


	21. XX: Investigation

_God in Heaven, you're all obsessed!_

 ** _~The Phantom of the Opera_**

Tobias groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose while the managers before him argued back and forth about the notes they held in their hands. He had come to the Opera Garnier that day to complain about the staff that was being careless overhead, bringing the infamous shoe that had fallen into his box. The managers however had other things on their minds.

"We cannot ignore these any longer, Max! Something has to be done!" David shouted, throwing the notes he was holding up in the air.

"And what do you suggest? Going through with his orders? Stopping our schedule to rehearse and perform this…this…garbage?" Max said with disgust rolling his eyes, motioning toward a copy of the finished opera that lay on his desk.

Tobias' eyes flashed to the score that lay on the desk and felt the anger rise within him. This Phantom thing was really going too far.

"What is that…" he asked, his voice clipped, "and when did it arrive?"

Max waved his hand nonchalantly. "A few days ago; Dreadful thing. I don't know why I haven't destroyed it yet."

Although Tobias knew the answer to Max's query. While the manager was not ready to admit it, his superstition towards the infamous Phantom was growing like his partner's.

David was massaging the temples of his head. "We have to do something! I mean it's going too far!" Before the others could protest, he quickly continued. "I'm not saying I believe that there is an Opera Ghost! I'm just saying we can't treat this lightly anymore! I mean…look at these notes!" he practically thrusted them into Tobias' face. "Sabotage! Destruction! Death! Why, he's even threatened to cut down the chandelier if we do not comply!"

Tobias' hand hit David's, causing the notes to fly about, telling the other manager exactly what he thought of the Phantom's notes. Max, who always thought himself calm, collected, and realistic, found he too was at a loss.

"I for one do not believe we should give in to the Phantom's demands, but…" he sighed, "David is right, something needs to be done about this character."

Tobias groaned and withdrew a cigar from his pocket. "So, you're suggesting we light torches, grab our pitchforks, and storm the backstage of the Palais Garnier?" he took one long puff on the cigar and blew a cloud of smoke at the managers. "Thank you, gentlemen, for showing me that I am indeed the patron of an insane asylum."

David ignored the Vicomte's sarcasm. "Monsieur, like you, I do not believe there is a 'Phantom of the Opera'." Tobias began to scoff, but David quickly continued. "I, like Max, do not believe in ghosts! But I do believe in pranksters, and I believe that is the case we have here."

Tobias took a long inhale from his cigar, pondering David's words. Perhaps these men had brains after all.

Max stepped forward nodding his head. "I too believe that is what we have here. Someone who thinks it a great joke to make demands of the Palais Garnier in the name of its infamous ghost."

"That's what I've been telling you all along," Tobias muttered as he exhaled smoke from his cigar, his gaze turning toward the fireplace in the office, his brown eyes glowing with the fire's reflection. "Yet I do not find these jokes, these ghost stories amusing…especially since I'm losing more money than gaining, from them."

At the mention of money, the managers tensed and began looking at each other nervously. Tobias took instant notice and felt his anger begin to boil again. "Tell me."

It wasn't a question. It was a demand.

"Well," Max started, his hands moving to straighten his suit jacket while his eyes avoided the Vicomte's. "It is simply…you see, Jeanine…"

Tobias was growing most impatient and he rubbed the burnt tip of his cigar on Max's desk to show his irritation.

"She refuses to sing," David finished.

If Tobias had been smoking at that exact moment, he would have begun choking. Instead, he looked as though someone had just come along and punched in him the stomach.

"And why the hell not?!" he demanded after the shock allowed him.

"She's been receiving death threats! Personal letters sent to her! We only just found out about these yesterday," David quickly answered before Tobias could demand why he had not been informed of these threats to the Opera House's star.

"The last few performances have been disasters. She's been drugged, kidnapped, and taken ill by mysterious circumstances. And now with these letters…" Max sighed and handed the fuming Vicomte one of Jeanine's notes.

"My dear madam," Tobias began. "Your days at the Paris Opera are numbered. Be grateful it was not strychnine in the glass that you consumed before the performance of _Hannibal_. I will not be so kind in the future. A new rising star is coming down from the heavens to replace you…I suggest, senora, that you take my advice and end your time here in Paris before I end it permanently. I remain, ever, O.G."

Tobias' voice had become a hiss by the end of the note. He had not failed to notice that when the note was sealed, the wax seal was a red skull. This prankster did indeed have a flair for the dramatics.

"She destroyed all the other notes," Max explained. "But she swears this one was her seventh."

Tobias immediately crumpled the note in his hand and tossed it into the roaring fireplace.

"I have not invested this much money into a project, only to see it go bust due to a myth!" he spat, turning on the managers, his eyes ablaze with fury.

"I want to know who this person is!" he shouted. "I want an investigation conducted on every employee of this theater!"

He turned and gazed at the shoe that had fallen into his box the previous night.

"There are people here who are not showing their betters the proper respect…and I intend to smoke out!" he threw the shoe into the fire at that point, and both David and Max jumped as the slipper erupted into flames.

"An…an investigation, monsieur?" David asked, unsure what exactly that entailed.

"Yes," Tobias hissed. "I want every man–" he paused as he saw Madame Tori Wu pass the office, "–and woman interrogated. I know that these 'ghost stories' are popular amongst the ballet and that the stagehands spread them. Start there…" he instructed. "But I want everyone questioned. And I want it done now."

He turned to go but both Max and David tried to call him back. "But monsieur! We have never gone about such things! How on earth do we do this?"

Tobias grabbed his gloves, hat, and walking stick before turning and snarling, "Just get it done! Or I'll remove my patronage from this place by the New Year!" He slammed the door shut to the office and stalked off in the direction Tori had gone. Lucky for him, she was still in the grand foyer.

"Good morning, madam," Tobias said with a courteous bow, although it was all done for dramatic effect. She was on the top of his list of "would-be Phantoms".

Torir turned with slight surprise at the Vicomte's voice, but returned his bow with a cold but courteous nod of her head.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," she whispered.

"I trust you are in good health?" Tobias asked, although he continued onward, not giving her the opportunity to reply. "I apologize if you overheard that dreadful argument in the manager's office."

"No apology is necessary monsieur," Tori replied icily. "I do not make it a practice to listen to the private conversations of others."

Tobias flashed the ballet mistress a smile, although they both knew it was false. "We were discussing the letters that the 'Phantom of the Opera', or 'O.G.' as he addresses himself, has been sending. The content of some were rather…dark and monstrous. I pray, you have not been threatened by any means?" he asked oh so sweetly.

Tori smiled, although it was a cold sarcastic smile. "I am touched by your concern monsieur…but I assure you, no threats have reached me, at least not yet."

Tobias was not surprised. "For that I am glad to hear. I must say…all these sudden threats and demands; oh, I know letters have been sent before, but I have never seen this many. It seems this 'Phantom' is working extra hard to have things go his way, does it not?"

"Indeed. It is rather fascinating, I must say." Tori nodded her head.

Tobias lifted an eyebrow. "Fascinating?"

Tori could not hide the smile that was threatening to break. "Oh yes, quite fascinating. Fascinating that a character that you claim does not exist and that you have repeatedly sworn is nothing more than a myth…is causing you so much stress and costing you so much money."

Tobias' mouth fell open and he stared at the smiling ballet mistress. She bowed her head to him, saying, "Good day monsieur," before leaving him standing stunned in the foyer.

He felt his face burn, his skin turning red, red as fire, and before the anger threatened to burst, he stormed out of the Opera House, slamming his hat on his head, and took quick long strides to his carriage. Yet before he climbed in, a voice erupted from behind.

"Monsieur! Monsieur Vicomte!"

Tobias was in no mood to speak to anyone, but the last person he expected to see come running toward him was the man he had hired to find Tris.

"Oh thank God monsieur, the housekeeper told me I could find you at the Opera House, but I have been looking-"

Without a word, Tobias reached forward, grabbed Lovelace by the collar of his coat, and pulled him into the carriage.

"Idiot!" Tobias growled, his eyes searching the streets to see if anyone had taken notice, but people were going about their business as usual. He turned and eyed the private investigator who was mopping up his sweaty brow with a handkerchief.

"I thought it was made quite clear that you were not to seek me out or come to this place!" he hissed, resisting every urge to beat the smaller man with his cane. Lovelace bit his lip and glowered in his seat.

"Forgive me monsieur, but…I had to come here! I have no choice," he groaned, hanging his head in shame.

Tobias rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers at the man, indicating for him to get on with whatever it was he had come to tell him. Lovelace quickly understood and proceeded to share his news.

"I am at a brick wall, monsieur," he sadly moaned. "I have been searching for the whereabouts of Mademoiselle Prior for weeks, but I have been unable to find anything new. As you know, I have had my sources in London go to the residence of the Fairchilds, but the household knew nothing about the young lady. My American associates in Chicago have not been much help either! Other than the friends of the family would say that Prior and his family left Chicago and gone to Paris with hopes of finding work at the Palais Garnier."

"Yes, yes, you're right, nothing that we didn't already know," Tobias muttered. "So there better be a point with this story, and a good point at that."

Lovelace sighed. "I was able to discover the apartment that Prior and his children l had been renting. The lady who runs the place informed me that the last time she had seen them had been on the morning of October 24."

Tobias' head perked up at this.

"The day of the opening gala," he whispered. Lovelace nodded his head vigorously.

"The woman has not seen either of them since, and neither had given any indication that they would not be returning. She held their place for a month, and after that, she gave their apartment to new tenants. She still has had no word."

Tobias was gazing out the window of his carriage at the Opera House. This mystery was growing increasingly intriguing by the minute. For it was the night of the opening gala that Prior and his son had come bursting into his club, raving about a monster–no, the Phantom–who had kidnapped Tris and was keeping her prisoner.

And since that day, the girl had not been seen since.

Tobias gripped his walking stick even tighter, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the Opera House, a cold feeling running through his blood.

"So, you see monsieur, I have no choice…I must continue my investigation here," Lovelace explained, looking most distressed. "But not to worry, I will be most careful, I will avoid Madame Wu at all costs…although it will probably not matter," his voice sounded muffled, as if he was about to cry.

"She has extracted her case from my services, believing me to be an imbecile," he wailed, quickly dabbing his eyes with the handkerchief. Tobias groaned at the sound of Lovelace's lament.

"Get a hold yourself!" he hissed, returning his gaze back to the Opera House. A plan was forming in his mind…

"What do you know about the Palais Garnier, Lovelace?" he casually asked, his gaze never leaving the grand building. Lovelace blew his nose and followed the Vicomte's gaze.

"Regarded as one of the greatest architectural gems of Paris. Why, it's hailed to be one of the greatest arenas for music in all of Europe. But I do not consider myself an opera man to be honest," he sniffled.

Tobias ignored Lovelace's last comment. "Have you ever heard of the place…being haunted?" he asked, turning his attention back to the private investigator.

The question surprised Lovelace. He had considered the Vicomte to be a man of reason, not a man who was ruled by flights of fancy.

"I'm afraid I have not, monsieur…but every building has a story, does it not? And…from what I understand, people who work in theater are a superstitious lot."

"Indeed," Tobias muttered, glancing at the Opera House one last time before focusing all his attention on Lovelace. "There is a ghost story that haunts the Paris Opera House…a specter known as the 'Phantom of the Opera'. There's no such creature of course…but someone has decided to take this 'myth' and try to make it real."

Lovelace nodded his head, reaching into his coat pocket for a pen and some paper. "So, you'd like me to track down this 'Phantom' for you, monsieur?"

Tobias' eyes widened at Lovelace's words. "No, you fool! I'm not giving you a new assignment, especially since you haven't solved the old one!" he turned from Lovelace in disgust. "I am investigating every employee of the Paris Opera House," he paused, his eyes reflecting the fire that had blazed in them back in the managers' office.

"I intend to smoke the villain out," he growled low beneath his breath. "And if anyone becomes suspicious as to why you are going about asking questions of the allusive Beatrice Prior, this is to be your cloak of disguise."

Now Lovelace understood, although he had rather hoped that the Vicomte would change his mind about the girl and pay him for his troubles or give him something new to chase. He was finding this search tiresome. "I shall between my inquiries–"

"Today," Tobias finished, rapping his walking stick against the ceiling of his carriage.

Lovelace paled and found himself stuttering. "T-t-t-today?"

Tobias nodded his head while the driver opened the carriage door. "And I want the information by Christmas," he added with a wave of his hand, indicating to Lovelace to leave his carriage.

Lovelace' mouth fell open. "C-c-c-Christmas? B-b-but that's less than a week!"

Tobias rolled his eyes and grabbed the man once again by the collar of his coat, practically throwing him out of the carriage.

"I'm paying you handsomely enough for you to deliver that information to me by tomorrow! Don't prove me wrong!" he roared, slamming the door shut and shouting to the driver to move on.


	22. Important Announcement- please read

So about a week ago, I realized it's been months since I last updated and it became painfully obvious that I'm just not going to be able to finish this story. I have tried to break out of the writer's block rut, but it hasn't worked. Too much time has passed and I cannot get back into the story and the characters. I re-read the story the other day to try one last time and I found many things I didn't like such as how I've written the story, the characters, and just where the direction is going that it makes want to cringe. So, I'm considering to tear this down and rewrite a version that is more faithful to the Phantom of the Opera story and Divergent's characters. I wouldn't mind trying to stomach what I have now and go back and change some aspects.

I just don't have the time or the motivation anymore.

I do not want to leave the story up as it is, unfinished, indefinitely, so I think I'm going to take it down soon (I'll leave it up for a while and then take it down).

I'm sorry that I couldn't finish the story. Thank you for reading as far as you have and for all your kind words. Hopefully someday you'll see a new and a much better improved version of That Threaten & Adore


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